Foeseeker
by Foeseeker
Summary: TO BE REVISED. Blood can be stronger than iron. Steel can be colder than ice. And love can span oceans, allegiances, and eras and create something greater than anything known. All this and more one squirrelmaid learns as she merely tries to live.
1. Prologue

Foeseeker

_**Foeseeker**_

_Prologue_

A squirrelmum sat in an armchair in the Gatehouse at Redwall Abbey. The winter winds howled outside, but inside, everybeast was snug and warm. More than a dozen dibbuns perched in various places in the room, two on the squirrelmum's chair arms, several by the crackling fire, and three on a desk. Beside the desk in a comfortable chair sat a young squirrelmaid with a book on one knee and a dibbun on the other. Several other mature squirrels sat in various places about the room.

The squirrelmum, still in her prime, sighed contentedly. Glancing at the dibbuns, she commented in a hinting voice, "Well! How the seasons do fly by! It seems like yesterday that I was a youngster rummaging about in this very room! Quite a few interesting tales I found, to."

Several dibbuns who had been on the brink of sleep snapped awake at the comment and began to chatter. "Oh, peez, Marmee, tell us a tory! Tell us a tory!"

The squirrelmum chuckled. Her hint had worked. "Oh, I'm sure you don't want to hear one of my old dull stories again, do you?"

The clamor that this remark raised was so great that one of the other squirrels raised his voice and shouted, "If this racket doesn't stop, the creatures over in the main building are going to have their ears ringing tonight!"

The squirrelmum ended the commotion by saying, "All right, I'll tell you a story, just please be quiet! Hmmm, have I told you dibbuns the story of _The Otter and the Weasels_?"

There was a loud clamor of "Aye!"

"What about _The Ship and the Friendly Shark_?"

After the next chorus of yes's, another squirrel, who had been listening with amusement, offered a solution. "Why don't ye tell them the story of how two tribes of squirrels were one, and how they were reunited?"

At the sounds of puzzlement form the assembled dibbuns, the squirrelmum reflected, "That's a true story, as well as a good one. Would you dibbuns like to hear it?"

The squeals of delight were enough. The squirrelmum turned to the young maid with the book. "Hafania, as you are the recorder, would you kindly write down this story? It should have been put to paper long ago, but this is a perfect opportunity."

Hafania picked up a quill and pulled out a blank volume. "With pleasure!"

The squirrelmum sat for a moment with her eyes almost closed as the waiting expectancy filled the room with an eager calm.

Then . . .

She began.


	2. The Maiden Slave

Book One: The Black Maid

_**Book One: The Black Maid**_

_1: The Maiden Slave_

A ship rolled and tossed on the far North Sea. Ropes creaked and groaned as the vermin galley hurtled through the spray, tossing like a landed fish. The oarslaves strained at their oars as the slave drivers cracked whips over their heads. Vermin rushed this way and that, shouting orders.

Suddenly, one of the lookouts bellowed, "Rocks ahead!" The steersbeast tried to turn the ship south, but the blinding rain had hidden the rocks until it was too late. Huge pillars of stone, most taller then any tree, mast, or tower, reared out of the surging waters.

With a roar like an earthquake, the ship splintered into pieces. Vermin and slaves alike floundered about in the icy water. As the thundering waves crashed on the rocks, they sent creatures smashing against each other, wreckage, and of course, the pillars of stone. One by one, all of the creatures either froze to death in the icy water or were dashed against the mighty stone pillars.

Except for one.

A young, black-furred squirrelmaid slave, her paws still in chains, had hauled herself out of the waves onto a piece of wreckage that had not been smashed. There she collapsed, exhausted, as the little bit of wreckage drifted south, toward a shore where creatures lived who would help her . . . if she lived to meet them.


	3. Journey of Pain

2: Journey of Pain

_2: Journey of Pain_

Seabirds wheeled and screeched over a sandy beach. The sun peeked over the Eastern horizon, illuminating a bedraggled mass on the tide line. A tiny crab crawled across the untidy heap, pinching a pointy bit that stuck up above the rest.

The squirrelmaid shook her head, forcing the crab to release its grip on her ear and sending it hurtling through the air. She coughed, spitting out a mouthful of sand, allowing herself to rest for a moment after two days of struggling to stay afloat on the high seas. Then she hauled herself to her feet and took stock of her surroundings.

The only things to be seen to the East were dunes. North, there was nothing but sand. To the West, there was only open water. To the South –

Ah, to the south, across the beach, vanishing among the dunes, there was a shining strip of what could only be water! And not just any water, fresh water! The squirrelmaid started toward it, and was painfully reminded of her chains and whip marks. She growled, a sound of pain and rage, and flashed her teeth in anger. Then she shook herself. No, those memories were too painful. She would not think of them again until she had strength to make up for them. Wincing at her raw wounds on her back and wrists, the thin, ragged dress scant protection against the cold, late-autumn wind, she dug her footpaws into the sand and started for the river.

An hour later, the squirrelmaid sat drinking the clear, cold water of the river. The water was fast-flowing and deep, but she had no immediate wish to cross it. For now, she decided to travel along the northern bank. Farther inland, she could see half-bare trees and low plants – possible sources of food. If only she could find some creature to tell her where this strange place was!

After the squirrelmaid had satisfied her thirst, she stood up, the cool shade of the forest drawing her like a magnet. A half-hour walk brought her to the real beginning of the forest. As she walked under a sprawling willow, she tripped over a tangle of weeds. Muttering under her breath, she tugged at the plant in frustration.

And found herself holding one of the largest dandelions she had ever seen.

With a swift movement, she stripped the thick root of dirt, and tore off the leaves. Despite the wilted foliage and the bitterness of the juice, the young squirrelmaid munched the raw leaves happily. She had had only thin gruel and half-rotted vegetable tops for three seasons. As she finished the last few leaves, her paw touched something hard and smooth. In a moment, she was munching on several large, fresh acorns.

The squirrelmaid continued inland for the remainder of the day, now and then finding an acorn or two or a pawful of mint leaves to satisfy her hunger. And, of course, there was the river water to drink. She decided to follow the river until she found somebeast to tend her swollen injuries, or at least some sign of other living creatures.

That night, the squirrelmaid took shelter under a large bush. The night sounds of the river swirling on by, the wind stirring the treetops, and the occasional hooting of some faraway owl filled her ears. She stretched with comfort, and lances of agonizing pain went through her back, into her limbs, into her mind. Sand had gotten caked into the open wounds, and flies had been picking at them all day. But the squirrelmaid had forced herself to ignore the discomfort. Now, as she thrashed, the throbbing pain went all through her. A low-hanging branch dug into one wound, and sent new pain into her senses.

Finally she laid still, a stillness brought on by sheer exhaustion. This struggling would never do. She had to sleep. Closing her heavy eyelids, she let her body relax, curling up against the crisp, late autumn cold.

For three days, the squirrelmaid traveled inland. Every morning when she woke, there was a thick coating of frost on the ground. Every day she traveled under a fading sun. The endless forest and wide, never-changing river were puzzles to her. Surely there was some change of terrain somewhere in this strange land?

This question was answered early on the fourth day. The squirrelmaid had been traveling slowly ever since she left the beach, partly from weariness and partly from her wounds, which grew more irritating and painful as the days passed. The evening before, she had been sure she could hear water gurgling as it does in shallow stretches in water. But the light had been fading and she had been too weary to investigate then. Now, she peered, surprised, at the sight which greeted her eyes.

The river widened here, becoming shallower in depth. A generous scattering of rocks, some under the surface and some with their tops peeking above it, made the crossing look easy. The bottom of the ford was one single mat of water weeds. They swayed innocently in the current, offering no danger whatsoever.

However, this was not the squirrelmaid's main focus. She had come to a gap in the trees. This gap, she saw, had been well used – a path. The path stretched on both sides of the river, running away North and South. At first glance, both sides looked the same. But at closer inspection, the South side was more worn. Here and there, on the Northern side of the path, a clump of weeds sprouted, or a stone sprawled as if it knew it wouldn't get kicked aside by a traveler passing by.

But the South side of the path was a different story. The occasional weed that grew there had been trampled flat. There were no stones there, just dirt and sand.

Right then and there, the squirrelmaid made up her mind. She would cross the ford and search for help on the Southern bank. She glanced at the stones. They were only a few paces apart, a few moss-covered, but what if she did slip? There was no danger.

She put her footpaw on the nearest rock. It held firm. The squirrelmaid jumped to the second rock, then the third.She continued this way across the river, jumping from rock to rock. As she neared to opposite bank, however, with only eight or so rocks to go, she came to a clump of unusually mossy stones. As she was jumping off one rock, her footpaw slipped on the slimy moss. Only her forepaws made it to the next rock. With a great splash, she fell backwards into the icy water.

A silvery flash filled her vision, and the next thing she knew was a huge pike lunging from the cover of the water weeds and snapping at her. In her shock, she let go of the stone and fell under the water. The pike bit at her flailing paw, and she pulled away just in time. The pike snapped again, this time grazing the chafed wrists.

The squirrelmaid roared with pain, the sound lost in a burst of bubbles. Without thinking, she lashed out at the pike, hitting it in the side of the jaw. It flailed its tail, striking her on the side. As she broke the surface gasping for breath, two more pike joined the fray. One grabbed at the scant flesh on her shoulder. The other nipped at her leg. The original pike tore at her unprotected back.

As the squirrelmaid twisted to get away from the two pike attacking her upper body, the third fish grasped her right leg in its teeth. As she twisted one way, it wrenched the opposite way, the razor teeth sinking deep into her flesh.

The snapping of the bone was audible even underwater. The squirrelmaid's scream of agony erupted as an explosion of bubbles. The bone had snapped just below the knee, the lower half of the bone bending upward and breaking the flesh. The water around her was almost instantly tainted with dark red blood.

With a sudden flare of desperation, she drove the claws of her left footpaw into the eye of the third pike. The other two were sent on their way with the frantic clawing of the maddened creature.

The squirrelmaid hauled herself to the shore using her three good limbs. Once there, she tried to stand, but her leg had snapped clean through. Anguish and pain shot through her battered body. The throbbing of her broken limb was added to by her chafed, torn wrists and her whipped, chewed-up back. Flopping down on the sand, she lay still, almost unconscious, as she waited for death to end this terrible agony.


	4. The Savage Stranger

3: The Savage Stranger

_3: The Savage Stranger_

The sunlight danced through leaves and boughs, the warm rays falling on two creatures strolling up the path through Mossflower Wood. One, a stout, rather short squirrel, carried a long, basket-hilted claymore at his side. His chocolate-brown tunic contrasted nicely with his red-brown fur. A feathered cap perched jauntily on his brow, and a honey-colored linen belt completed his outfit.

The creature beside him, also a squirrel, was almost a head taller. The sword at his side was shorter then his companion's claymore, but no weapon could ever amount to this sword's beauty and strength. It was a simple weapon, its only ornamentation being a red pommel stone set on the hilt's end. The hilt itself was wrapped with smooth, slightly worn black leather, and was joined flawlessly to the perfectly balanced blade, which legends said was made from a fallen star.

The squirrel himself looked every inch worthy to carry such a magnificent weapon. His head was carried high and his reddish fur was somewhat scuffed, but neat. His dark green tunic was belted with a white cord, and his head was bare.

Wild Doogy Plumm twirled his claymore idly. "Well, Tam, me bonny beastie, tis a braw day tae be strollin' through the woods, wi' a blade at your side. I do have tae say that this ol' claymore has served me well o'er the seasons. 'Twas kind o' ye tae give it tae me."

Rakkety Tam MacBurl grinned. "How many times do I have to tell ye? I never gave it to ye, Armel did! We've been having this argument for nineteen seasons, Doogy! Why aren't ye just lettin' me have my rightful property?"

Doggy chuckled. "Well, ye're the one wi' the sword of Martin the Warrior! But if'n ye really want yer claymore, ye have tae beat me in combat!"

Tam groaned; then he laughed. It was true that he carried Martin's sword, and had for nineteen seasons. Martin himself had chosen him, as revealed in a dream of the infirmary keeper, Armel.

The sword gave him an advantage concerning this little disagreement over the claymore. They had always finished this particular argument off with a sham fencing match. Tam had always won, and had always conceded Doogy could have the claymore. In fact, he had been perfectly happy with Armel's decision to give Doogy the claymore in the first place; but he pretended not to, as the two old friends loved to argue. Besides, it was good practice for real battle. "Very well, I accept yer challenge!"

Two swords flashed out, crashing together with mock savagery. They circled each other as they headed North up the path. The pair continued their friendly sparring as they approached the river Moss.

They had started out on their walk early that morning. Two warriors like the duo from the Northlands could easily cover the distance from Redwall Abbey to the river Moss in half a day. Now, as they continued their staged fight, Doogy stepped on something lying on the sand.

Doogy suddenly yelled with pain and surprise as claws were drawn across his footpaws. Two obsidian eyes stared defiantly up at him, as the claws lashed out again. He skipped to one side, and the claws sank deep into the sand.

Tam poked gently at the creature with his sword. The squirrelmaid flew to life, her muddled senses confusing her vision and hearing. She had no idea who or what was attacking her. All she knew was that she had heard the clash of metal, had been stepped on, and then had been prodded with something sharp. Fury coursed through her. In her rage she tried to stand, but her snapped leg gave out beneath her and she fell back to the ground, snarling.

Tam's anger was roused. He had seen several insane creatures in his time, and this raging squirrelmaid looked like one of them. Blood still seeped from her broken leg, mixing with sand and mud and crusting on her fur. Her teeth were flecked with foam, and deep down, her eyes glowed blood red.

With a sudden movement, the squirrelmaid lashed out. Rolling onto her side, she seized Tam's footpaw and pulled. Tam lost his footing and fell, dropping the Sword of Martin as he did. It fell some distance away, out of his immediate reach.

Tam instinctively kicked at the squirrelmaid. Instantly, she let out an awful shriek of pain and slumped down, out cold. Tam had unknowingly kicked the most tender part of her body; her snapped leg.

Tam jumped up and grabbed the sword. He pointed it at the fallen squirrelmaid, expecting to see her leap towards him. When she didn't move, he relaxed slightly. However, when he paused to get a closer look at her, he was aghast at her torn back, chafed wrists, and most of all, her broken leg.

Doogy, too, had seen the terrible injuries. He gasped; then he murmured, "We have tae get her back tae the Abbey."

Tam took the sword into the woods to cut saplings, while Doogy gathered vines. They tied the saplings into a stretcher frame using vines as cord; then they took the remaining vines and wove them back and forth between the two long sides. The finished product of the hasty job was rather crude, but it would serve. Several bundles of dry leaves, abundant in the late autumn forest, made a rather good pad for the casualty.

With great caution, Tam and Doogy bent over the unconscious squirrelmaid. Tam reached out to touch the crusted blood near the torn leg. "I'm almost afraid to move her. We might damage her leg further."

Doogy gently placed his paw under her shoulders. "Well, we're goin' tae have to; the poor lassie."

They did manage, in the end, to slide the stretcher under the squirrelmaid. She was alarmingly lightweight; her hipbones and ribs were visible through the tears in the ragged garb. When they placed her on the stretcher, the bite on her shoulder became more prominent.

As they were about to pick up the stretcher, Tam had an idea. Picking up one of the squirrelmaid's limp paws, he examined the chain that was fastened around her chafed wrist. Her wrist had grown so thin that he was able to slip a broad twig twixt it and the chain. He called Doogy over, and asked him to hold the paw steady on the ground. Guessing what his friend was up to, Doogy obeyed.

Tam drew the sword and raised it over his head. As he brought it down, there was a metallic snap, and the chain fell loose on the ground. He repeated the process with the other paw; then he remarked, "She'll be a little more comfortable without those on." With an angry motion, he picked up the chains and threw them into the river. "There, let those symbols of cruelty rust away to nothing."

Doogy was surprised. Tam rarely spoke like that. He changed the subject. "Tam, let's get this lassie tae the Abbey as quickly as we can. She's looks as if she's apt tae die from her wounds."

Tam blinked and grasped the stretcher. Doggy gripped the other end, and they started off South toward Redwall Abbey, the place they called home.

††

A cold late-autumn sun was slipping over the horizon as Tam and Doogy rounded a slight bend in the path and came into full view of Redwall Abbey. The ancient sandstone walls were tinted a rose hue in the sun's last rays. The tower of the main building was visible over the walltop.

Tam couldn't help a sigh of happiness as they approached Redwall's main gate. He and Doogy had come to live at Redwall after the Seasons of the Savage. Armel, the infirmary keeper, had nursed Tam back to health after he was terribly wounded in battle. Once he was better, they were married and had a daughter named Melanda. Although they had wanted to have more children, they were content with their daughter, who became the recorder when she was older. She and Armel still held their old positions as infirmary keeper and recorder.

Tam himself was the Abbey champion. This position was never held by more then one creature at a time, and was always held by the one who carried the sword of Martin the Warrior. The greatest hero and founder of Redwall, Martin the Warrior had been the first carrier of his famous sword. He sometimes appeared to Redwallers to advise them, especially concerning the sword. Whoever carried the sword was picked by the warrior mouse. Sometimes they were instructed to be Redwall's champion, and sometimes they just felt a desire to pick up the sword and protect the Abbey, and any who might need help.

Tam was jerked out of his thoughts as the Abbey bells, the Matthias and the Methuselah, rang out through the evening twilight. A voice shouted down from the ramparts, "Ahoy! Is that you, Tam?"

Tam shouted back, "Aye, tis me, Skipper. Doogy and I have an injured creature here, so let us in!"

A moment later the large double gates opened, and Skipper of Otters hurried out. "Who was – in the name of seasons, what happened?!" he exclaimed, when he saw the stranger's injuries.

"We 'ave no idea who she is, or wot 'appened, Skip," replied Doogy. "Where's Armel? Tam and I can rest when the lassie's settled in the infirmary."

As if on cue, a squirrelmum came hurrying up. "Sister Mimsie told me that you two had found a wounded creature. May I take a look?"

Tam winked at his wife. "I'd say yes and let ye look right here, but we've been carrying this stretcher since midday, and this squirrelmaid has been jounced about far too much for my liking. She needs to rest in the infirmary."

Armel nodded understandingly. She hurried ahead to prepare a bed while Skipper accompanied the two warriors across the abbey grounds and into the main building.

As the trio crossed Great Hall, Tam thought he heard somebeast call his name. He glanced about to locate the source of the sound, and his eye fell on the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. This piece of amazing artwork was as old as the legacy of the warrior himself. It had been made after his death, and was prized by Redwallers as the heart of the Abbey.

Tam heard the voice again, faint, but distinct. Where had he heard that voice before? It didn't belong to any Redwaller.

He had no time to think any more, for they had reached the stairs to the infirmary. A moment later, Armel was gently easing the strange squirrelmaid off the makeshift stretcher onto a bed that she had just fixed up. Skipper left once she was settled, but Tam and Doogy stayed to hear the results. Doogy, exhausted from the day's goings-on, kept dozing off and finally went to bed.

Tam, who wasn't sleepy, helped Armel clean, dress, and bandage the bite on the squirrelmaid's shoulder. The break on her leg was a different matter; Tam, not having the training necessary to tend to such an injury, had to sit nearby and watch. Armel had her assistant, Sister Mimsie, who had been making salve out of meadowsweet, bring a strait, smooth ash splint from the woodpile. While she was doing that, Armel began to clean the leg wound.

The bone was snapped through, but it was a clean break and would heal in time. The bleeding had stopped, but there was so much dried mud and crusted blood matted in the fur that Armel picked up a small knife to cut away the tangle.

A paw sent the knife flying through the air, the point burying itself in the window frame. The squirrelmaid, who had woken several minutes before without anybeast noticing, lunged at Armel, who leaped away from the unexpected attack. The maid snarled viciously but didn't make any attempt to move further.

Tam had jumped up when the squirrelmaid struck at Armel. He now rushed forward, drawing the sword as he did. He pointed it at the squirrelmaid, growling, "Why did you strike at Armel?"

The squirrelmaid replied in a voice that defied her scraggly appearance. Her tone brooked no nonsense, her voice rich, level, and smooth. "I strike anybeast who draws a weapon against the daughter of Vura Hon and Mittreya. Lower your sword; lest you wish to receive greater injuries then I bear now!"

Armel gently placed a paw on Tam's arm. "She is right; drop your sword." She turned to the squirrelmaid. "You are in the infirmary at Redwall Abbey. You are safe here. I am Armel McBurl, the infirmary keeper."

Tam sheathed his sword. "My name is Rakkety Tam McBurl, Rewall's champion. My friend Doogy and I were the ones who found you."

The squirrelmaid had no intention of letting down her guard, but she relaxed slightly. "What was she doing with a knife?" she questioned, nodding at Armel.

The squirrelmum replied quickly. "I was trying to clean your leg, but your fur is so matted that I'm going to have to cut it off in that area. I'm sorry I upset you."

At that moment, Melanda, a spirited young adult squirrel, came hastening into the room. "Mother, Dad, I heard the news. What happened?" She saw the squirrelmaid sitting propped up with a pillow. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. What's going on?"

"We were just getting acquainted," replied Tam. "The squirrelmaid still hasn't told us her name, however. What are you called, young 'un?"

"Lindenton Tarenta, daughter of the chief of the Tarentian squirrels, Vura Hon Tarenta; and Mittreya Tarenta, his wife." The squirrelmaid had a hint of sorrow behind her proud air.

Armel picked up the knife again. "Do you go by a nickname?"

The squirrelmaid nodded. "Aye, I am usually called Lin by my friends and family."

She flinched as her leg was stirred slightly. Armel placed a paw on Melanda's shoulder. "Run down to the kitchen and have the Friar make Sister Sedge's vegetable broth – he'll know what I mean. Tell him to add dried mint leaves, ground marigold seed, and half a pinch of thyme. Bring a beaker of watered-down rosehip tea when you come back, please."

After Melanda had left, Armel went back to the task of cleaning Lin's leg. Sister Mimsie returned from the woodpile with a perfect ash splint; she had been instructed to take her time in the choosing. Armel asked her to continue with the meadowsweet salve as she sliced through the fur around the break. When that was finished, she went over to a cupboard and drew out several rolls of linen bandages.

Lin gasped with pain as Armel straitened out the bone and coated the open wound liberally with the meadowsweet salve. With some help from Mimsie, the ash splint was put in place, and the bandages wrapped firmly round it.

Lin grumbled when she saw the finished result. Tam gently patted her uninjured shoulder. "I understand. I had similar injuries a long time ago."

Melanda came in bearing a tray with a steaming bowl of thick broth and a beaker of a strange-colored liquid. Armel thanked her and brought the food over to the bed. "This is a thick vegetable broth with garden herbs added to it. Try it; I think you'll enjoy it."

Lin needed no second bidding. After weeks of starvation rations, she finally had solid food. The thick broth was indeed delicious, strong, and hot; just the right thing for an invalid. Lin tackled it with enthusiasm. She didn't wolf it down, but the food was gone in an amazingly short amount of time.

As she was sipping the rosehip tea, Lin's eyelids began to droop. A contentment that she had not known for three seasons filled her body. Sleep enveloped her in its peaceful folds.

The remaining creatures in the room followed Lin's example and retired for the night soon afterwards. Tam and Armel slept in their snug chamber just off the infirmary. Armel had a peaceful night, but her husband tossed and turned in nightmares.

††

Tam was drifting through the dark mists of sleep when he heard a voice calling him; the same voice that he'd heard earlier in Great Hall. An armored figure came towards him. Martin the Warrior, guardian spirit of Redwall, approached Tam and took his paw. His strong voice rang through Tam's mind.

"Come; I want to show you something."

Tam followed the mouse through the mist for seemingly hours. Then, suddenly the mist cleared and Tam found himself gazing at a terrible scene.

A battle was raging across a field, which was dotted with buildings. Vermin and squirrels were fighting it out between these buildings. However, among the huge crowd, one stood out to Tam.

A squirrel, its teeth bared and its weapon flailing, was battling its way through the pack. Tam could feel every blow that struck the squirrel, could see what it could see, could hear what it could hear, and could even sense its thoughts. They were thoughts of anger and hatred, love and revenge, and, above it all, thoughts of all its loved ones.

The squirrel suddenly stopped with a jolt as a sly, evil voice called out, "Drop your weapons, woodlanders, or this 'un's a deadbeast!"

Tam saw a huge vermin, its huge blade pointed at the throat of a squirrel lying on the ground, who was apparently dazed from a blow. The vermin put pressure on the blade, and a drop of blood squeezed out of the puncture.

Then the squirrel who's every movement Tam was following leaped forward, cannoning into the vermin. The two locked in a terrible duel, each wounding the other terribly. The clash of metal was loud in Tam's ears.

Then, the vermin snatched a spear from the ground nearby, and with it tripped up the squirrel. It fell on its back, and through its eyes, Tam saw the vermin's weapon come flashing down. He felt it tear the skin, felt it slicing down toward the heart . . .

Tam sat up panting. Sweat moistened his brow, and his paw felt for his sword. A sigh escaped him as he realized that it had only been a dream.

But what a dream! And why had Martin the Warrior shown him this battle?

As if in answer, a voice spoke in his mind.

"You must be there, Warrior; you must raise your sword against the enemy, and your life-friend must do as well. I place the black diamond in your care."

Tam shook his head as he felt the mists of sleep engulfing him. One question built itself up in his mind.

What did this all mean?


	5. Tale of Fear

4: Tale of Fear

_4: Tale of Fear_

Days passed. Lin slept most of the time, and spoke seldom. Her appearance changed much in those first few days. Her fur gradually developed a dark obsidian sheen; her sides filled out, so that her bones were no longer visible; and her eyes gained a lively spark.

About a week after she first came to the Abbey, Lin, Tam, Armel, Melanda, and Doogy were sitting together in the infirmary. The McBurls (which included Doogy) had become like family to the black squirrelmaid; they had treated her like one of them.

Melanda put down the blank book she had just finished binding on the table next to her. "Lin, I've been meaning to ask you this ever since you came here to Redwall; what is your story? How did you come to be wounded like you were?"

Lin, startled by the abruptness of the question, turned to face the young squirrel, who was a season or two younger then herself. "I beg your pardon, what did you say?"

"What is your story from the time before you came to Redwall?"

Lin settled back into the pillow. "It is a long tale. Are you sure you want me to tell it now?"

Tam smiled. "Redwallers love good, long stories. Tell on!"

Lin's eyes flickered. "Well, it is a long story, but it is not a good one. To tell it correctly, I'll have to go back to the time when my tribe first began."

Tam, Armel, Doogy, and Melanda all pulled their chairs a little closer. Melanda picked up the just-finished volume and a quill pen. "Do you mind if I write the story down as you tell it?"

Lin shook her head. "No, I don't. It is a tale that deserves to be written down for others to learn from." she waited a moment. "Are you ready?"

Melanda nodded and dipped the quill in the ink.

Lin half-closed her eyes as she began, her voice an even, steady flow.

"My story starts long ago, on a doomed ship on the open sea . . ."

††

That ship carried the start of a whole tribe in its scorned cargo. Among the oarslaves were numerous young black squirrels and a few adults. One of these adults, a big black female, held a young babe at her side as she pulled her oar.

One stormy night, the ship ran onto a reef and broke apart, carrying most of the slaves and all of the vermin to the seabed. However, the big female squirrel managed to rescue nine of the young ones, including her own. Although she was badly injured, she got all the youngsters onto pieces of wreckage. An island loomed close, and this was where the squirrels were beached some hours later.

The squirrelmum made sure all the young ones were ashore. Then she found her daughter, her only child, and said, "Take this, for it will be of great service to you and your kin in the future. When you pass on, give it to your eldest daughter, and tell her to do the same." She pressed a gold and diamond bracelet into her daughter's paw. "Remember who you are, Lindenton, and always remember me, Julska your mother." The squirrel relaxed on the sand, and never moved again.

The nine youngsters gradually grew used to the almost semi-tropical island. About three days steady journey across, a line of tall hills split it down the middle. It was roughly round in shape, but on the northern side there was a large harbor or bay about three miles in diameter. To the East of this was a peninsula of fine, sandy soil with scattered trees and smooth, level ground. This was where the squirrels decided to erect a few ramshackle buildings. During the construction of these, one squirrel found a large boulder near the mouth of a stream. On one side the face had been smoothed out, and into the stone had been cut the word "Tarenta." This was what the squirrels called the island, and added the word to their own names.

Seasons flowed into seasons, and one summer Lindenton was married to one of the other refugees, a friendly, easygoing squirrel named Jamel. Several of the others followed her example, and youngsters began to pop up all over the place. When Lindenton died, there were more then a score of Tarentian-born squirrels and the numbers of these black-furred youngsters were continuing to grow.

When Lindenton did die, she passed the bracelet on to her eldest daughter, as her mother had told her to. And her daughter did the same, as did her daughter. From generation to generation, from squirrel to squirrel, the bracelet traveled. Each time the bearer followed the instructions that had been given to Lindenton on the beach, always passing it on.

As time passed, Tarentian life began to change. For one thing, the numbers of squirrels continued to multiply, and the number of houses multiplied with them. After a time, the buildings began to form a large village, or even a small town.

Another change was the art of ship building. The island had little stone, but it was literally blanketed with trees, trees, and more trees. The only places that were not wooded were the beaches and stream banks. The timber was used for house building, furniture, fences, and ships. These ships were small, only having one mast and having a maximum crew of about two score. With these little boats, the squirrels explored the nearby ocean and met up with other ships like their own.

These ships belonged to the island of Volkendo, an island on a dead volcano five days journey north from Tarenta. The creatures there were a mixed bag. Roughly half of them were hedgehogs, the other half made up of shrews, mice, voles, otters, hares, squirrels, moles, and the odd rabbit. All of these creatures were shipwrecked here and settled down. The Volkendians, as they called themselves, were peaceable and friendly, and the two islands began to trade.

Having an abundance of forests, Tarenta had bountiful timber, nuts, and other woodland crops, but had little or no stone, and no room for field crops such as wheat. Volkendo, on the other hand, was all open fields for crops, and had a mountain in the center of the island with huge deposits of stone, but only had a few pines for wood.

Trade between the two islands rapidly grew. Tarentians traded lumber for stone and nuts for wheat, while the Volkendians swapped cucumbers for mushrooms and flax for woodland herbs. The island watched each other grow and prosper as season after season passed, leaders replacing the old ones and youngsters growing up to have children of their own.

Then early one spring, while patches of snow were still on the ground, a young squirrel gave birth to twins, her first children. She and her husband decided to name them after their ancestors; the young male was called Jome, after his many times great-grandfather Jamel. The female was christened Lindenton after her predecessor of that name.

Although they were twins, the two young squirrels grew up to be very different. Jome was quiet and rather withdrawn, preferring to spend his day helping his mother Mittreya at market or daydreaming out in the forest, though he sometimes did join his sister in her games.

Lindenton, or Lin as everybeast called her, was adventurous and full of energy. From the start, she was the ringleader of the adolescent squirrels of Tarenta. They would go romping through the trees or spend the day on the beach frolicking in the waves. The young Lin loved it all. Life was good here on the island, and that goodness was added to one summer, when the twins were nine seasons old. Mittreya gave birth to another child, a female who was named Yraina. Later that season Vura Hon, the twin's father, was made chief of the village.

The following spring when the twins turned twelve seasons old, Lin and Jome were playing a game with small pebbles on a dune top some distance from the village. Some of the other youngsters were down on the beach, playing.

As she and her brother played and laughed together, Lin happened to glance at the horizon. Her quick eyes spotted several ships heading toward the island. But what ships! Each was a huge three-mast monster, with two banks of oars. No Tarentian or Volkendian had ever dreamed of ships like this.

A voice sounded in Lin's ear, or mind; she couldn't tell which. "Get them to safety!"

Lin sprang up, her eyes like steel. A growl rumbled in her throat as she turned toward her brother. He, in shock, also leaped up, staggering backward. With a yell, he slipped and went tumbling down the dune.

Lin went slipping and sliding after him. The other young squirrels, startled by the shouts and by the tumbling Jome, looked up in surprise. Lin helped Jome up. "Sorry about that; no time to explain now. You have to escape into the forest, to the southern shore. I'll meet you there later."

Something in his sister's voice convinced Jome to do as she said. He clasped her paws tightly for a moment. "Take care of yourself," he whispered. Then he was off, running for the forest.

Lin watched him go for a long moment. Then she turned to the rest. "There is a great danger coming. My brother has gone to safety on the southern shore. All of you must go too. Now!"

One young squirrel piped up. "What is the danger?"

Lin searched for a quick answer. "Evil creatures that can kill any and all of you if they please. Now run! Run!"

Most of the youngsters started to head toward the tree line; however, a handful of the teen-seasoned squirrels paused. "What of our parents? What of you? What are you going to do?"

"I will try to save your families if I possibly can," replied the squirrelmaid. "what will happen to me – that is in the paws of fate. Give my love to Jome, and tell him that we will meet again. Farewell!" And with that, she turned and set off at a steady run down the beach.

Vura Hon Tarenta and Mittreya Tarenta were both enjoying a cup of mint tea together when their oldest daughter came storming in, panting. Without pausing to catch her breath, Lin burst out, "Mother, Dad, you have to tell the Tarentians that they have to escape to the forest, or they'll all be massacred!"

Vura Hon, a tall, quiet squirrel who truly looked like a chief, stared oddly at his daughter. "What in the name of seasons do you mean, Lindenton?"

"Dad, you have to believe me. Jome and I were playing on the beach with some of the others, when I looked at the horizon. I saw several ships, each at least twice as big as any of ours. Then I heard this voice. I don't know where it came from; there was no beast but Jome near me, but it was unmistakably feminine. It told me to 'get them to safety.' The squirrels, who were with me at the beach including Jome, are already heading toward the southern shore. Every remaining squirrel must go too!"

Her father moved toward the door. "Show me these ships."

Lin scrambled out after him, her mother close behind. She pointed at the horizon.

Seven ships, six with three masts and one with four, were closing in. they were within a half-hour's steady sail of the harbor. Another three-mast monster was moving in from the east, its double banks of oars moving up and down in steady rhythm.

Vura Hon studied them. "Fine craft, but too big in my opinion." He turned to his daughter. "What makes you think that these ships are dangerous?"

"It's not the ships I'm worried about Dad; it's what's inside."

"What do you think is inside them?"

"Evil, villainous creatures who want to destroy us."

Vura Hon was silent.

Lin continued. "Dad, couldn't you make some kind of announcement to the tribe about this? They need to know."

Her father turned to her. "You know that the Chieftain of the Tarentian squirrels has no right to tell them what to do. The Chieftain's job is to make sure everything runs smoothly."

"Dad," Lin began, but her mother intervened. "No arguing, please. It is up to the Tarentians themselves whether or not they will go. We'll spread the word, but the final decision is up to them."

Lin knew her mother's counsel was wise. She bowed her head. "Yes, Mother."

The next half hour was spent warning the other squirrels about the impending danger. Most looked at them as if they had gone crazy; some just laughed; however, some fivescore squirrels heeded the warnings and, packing up a few of their things, headed south.

And not a moment too soon. Scarcely had the last group left then the eight ships arrived. The one at the base of the peninsula let down its gangplanks first. Scores of vermin poured out, armed to the teeth and ready to kill. As soon as the squirrels were fully cut off from safety, the remaining seven ships unloaded their evil cargo. Soon the air was full of cries of pain. Most of the squirrels were put in chains, but the few who tried to fight were killed.

Lin and Mittreya were near a storehouse when the attack began. Mittreya immediately placed Lin behind her against the wall, furiously battling any vermin that came near. The quiet, peace-loving squirrelmum had in an instant been transformed into a battling warrior. Using nothing but a piece of firewood, she kept the vermin at bay.

Lin, who was sheltered from attack by her mother, looked about for her father. She spotted him running out of their house with her little sister Yraina in his arms. Before he got five paces a sword flashed down, stabbing him through the back. Before the big squirrel could fall, the sword whipped round and slit Yraina's throat.

Lin gasped in shock and horror, the vision she had just seen burned into her brain. A fox, a head taller then any other beast present and killer of the two squirrels, scornfully wiped his scimitar on the two fallen bodies. Looking about, he saw the commotion going on over by the storehouse, where Mittreya was putting up a gallant fight. With an evil smile, he walked almost casually toward her and her daughter.

Lin gasped, but could do nothing more. The fox twirled his huge scimitar in one paw, sending the piece of firewood spinning away from Mittreya. The squirrelmum reacted strangely. She hurled herself sideways, dragging Lin with her. The startled vermin leaped to one side.

The two squirrels ran as they had never run before. As she ran, Mittreya grasped her own right paw with her left and began fiddling with something. Then, she pressed an object into Lin's paw.

"Here, take this. You know our family tradition concerning it; live up to that tradition, Lin."

Before she could say more, an arrow came zipping through the air and buried itself in Mittreya's left thigh. With a cry she fell to the ground, gasping with pain. Lin, still holding on to the unknown object in her paw, was carried on a few more paces by sheer momentum. When she did stop, she turned quickly.

Her blood ran cold at the sight of the huge fox and his band of vermin. The fox twirled his blade in a swift movement, aiming downward. A scream froze in Lin's throat as the blade sliced downward. In a single second, the squirrel some had called the most beautiful creature on Tarenta lay dead, a sword blade buried in her heart.

And through her daughter's veins coursed an undying fury at the cruel, evil, torture-loving vermin before her. The murderer of three of her family members.

Lin was quickly seized and placed in chains. The big fox, who was obviously the leader of the vermin horde, commanded for her to be given one hundred lashes and then chained away from the rest of the slaves. His cool, completely uncaring voice made Lin furious, but she could do nothing.

As she was dragged toward the beach for the lashing, she studied the fox. His fur was a dull, ordinary grey for the most part, but his paws and right ear were a dark charcoal, and his lower jaw, throat, and front were very light in color, still grey but close to white. His entire coat was completely lusterless.

The fox was dressed simply but royally. A chain mail tunic covered his upper body. Over this were a purple velvet tunic and a flowing red cloak behind. A belt make from adder skin girded his middle. Into this was tucked his scimitar, fearsome and without adornment except for a gold-trimmed hilt set with a ruby.

When Lin was finally dragged to the beach, three horde beasts knocked her down. Her paws were tied to short posts newly driven into the ground. Her footpaws received the same treatment. Even her head was held down with a rope passed across her neck and secured to two posts on either side.

The lashings were dealt by another fox, which looked like a smaller and younger replica of the first. His dress was less fine, being a simple brown tunic, but his fur had a deep luster. His eyes were different, too. There was no cruelty there, only fear. And regret.

Lin nearly passed out during the lashing. She barely registered the fact that she was being untied and dragged to a secluded spot among the buildings. There, her lead chain was fastened to an iron ring in a wall that had been formerly used to secure laundry lines. There, the vermin left her.

Hours passed. Lin was stiff and sore from her beating. The wounds smarted and bled, stinging when sand rubbed into them. Her dress had been ripped in several places, which she attempted to patch with dry leaves.

The sun set. The lone squirrelmaid wasn't cold, for the almost sub-tropical temperatures kept the island warm even at night. But she shivered all the same. The memories that clouded her mind were almost too much to bear. Her parents and sister dead. Her brother gone. The Tarentians conquered. These thoughts and more stormed her head, threatening to overwhelm her.

Crack!

The sharp sound of a seashell breaking brought Lin's head erect. Her quick eyes flicked about for any sign of a creature trying to sneak up on her.

A shadow fell across the narrow lane. Lin sprang up, but before she could react further, the stranger came into view.

It was the younger of the two look-alike foxes. He carried no visible weapon, but in one paw dangled a small sack. He moved as if he didn't want to be seen, slinking from shadow to shadow with the natural stealth of a fox.

Lin growled dangerously. The fox put up his paws. "Peace. I bring you no harm."

The squirrelmaid eyed him. he _was_ unarmed. "how do I know you're telling the truth?"

The fox opened his mouth to answer, but Lin never heard his reply. A different voice, a female voice, rang in her head. "Trust him. he will help you."

Lin shook her head. The fox was gently shaking her by the shoulders, saying in his mellow baritone voice, "Miss? Are you all right? Miss? Can you hear me?"

Lin blinked. "Sorry about that. Was there any other beast around a moment ago?"

The fox looked puzzled. "No. Why?"

"I thought I heard somebeast talking to me, but it wasn't you."

"I'm telling you, there was no beast about except me."

"It was the same . . ." Lin began, but stopped herself. "I must have imagined it. I'm sorry I snapped at you a moment ago."

The fox still looked puzzled. "Why are you changing your mind about me so quickly?"

"Well it's a long story . . ." Lin told the fox about the voice she had heard on the dunes earlier that day, and about the voice that sounded so similar a few moments ago. The fox was stunned. "I thought I'd heard some good tales, but this one outclasses them all." He bowed. "Please excuse my bad manners. My name's Gareth." His eyes clouded. "Son of Groomyer the Ruthless."

Lin frowned. "Groomyer? Is he that large fox with the big curved sword?"

"The scimitar? Yes. He's the one. He's the commander-in-chief of this horde, and the one who gave orders for your lashing. I'm sorry about that, but if I hadn't done it, Groomyer's second-in-command Adastro would have, and . . . ugh, I don't want to imagine the sight."

Lin also bowed, being unable to curtsey in her chains. "I'm called Lindenton Tarenta. I only go by my full name when I'm in trouble, so please call me Lin."

The two talked quietly for some time. Gareth had brought a few herbs in the small bag, and these he applied to Lin's back. There were also some bits and pieces of food wrapped in a large dockleaf. Lin attacked these with spirit.

Gareth told her that Groomyer had instructed for all the newly captured slaves to be put on two days of no food or water. This, the evil fox presumed, would weed out the weaklings, leaving only the stronger ones to live the hard life of a slave. Lin ground her teeth at this news.

"He isn't called 'The Ruthless' for nothing," Gareth said.

"Aye, but beasts are cowards to allow such an evil creature to live. Why does your horde follow him, Gareth?"

"I don't know, to tell you the truth. Maybe it's because, deep down inside, they're all just as evil. Maybe it's because of the good pickings after a raid. It truly is a puzzle to me."

"But you? Why do you follow him?"

"He's my father. I know he's evil, but he is my flesh and blood. That's also the reason why my life would be forfeit if I tried to escape. He'd hunt me down and . . . well, kill me."

Lin shuddered. Before she could do anything else, the sound of pawsteps was heard. Gareth shoved the sack into her paws, whispering, "Lay on the sack so no beast can see it. I'll visit tomorrow. Take care, friend!"

He vanished into the shadows before the sleepy sentry passed.

††

Days passed. Gareth visited Lin every night, bringing her food, comfort, and news. The vermin settled into the village, taking over everything. A slave compound made of tall, sharpened tree trunks was erected at the tip of the peninsula. At night, the slaves were herded into this prison and locked in. Sentries were placed round it to ensure none escaped.

Lin, however, was still chained to the iron ring, which was set in the wall of one of the storehouses. From there, she could watch the activity in the market square and the harbor. The eight vermin ships were docked and patched up. The winter storms had been hard on them, and the slaves were set to work repairing them.

A week after Lin's capture, Groomyer sent for her. Two guards brought Lin to him. he was decked out in a tunic of green silk, backed by a flowing purple cloak. The oaken chair he sat on was covered with skins. Lin tried not to stare at these as he addressed her.

"Well, my little prisoner, I have a few things to say to you. I would not normally give a slave this much freedom, but as the daughter of the late chief, you deserve royal treatment. I give you three choices." He placed a paw on his sword hilt. "One: you join the ranks of my horde and serve me as a soldier. Two: you become a slave, prepared to live or die at my whim. Three: you go to the benches of the ship that is leaving today to raid other settlements for slaves and loot." He leaned back and closed his eyes, a smile of pure evil crossing his face. "Oh, there is one other option I forgot about. I could kill you and add your hide to my throne along with those of your parents and sister."

A roar tore the air. Despite the heavy chains and restraining guards, Lin jumped strait at the fox. Her strong paws gripped his throat, cutting off the air. Groomyer, in desperation, drew his sword and struck Lin across the back. The deep, bleeding wound was extremely painful, but the squirrelmaid held on grimly.

The two guards roughly hauled her off. Groomyer, panting for breath, gasped out, "take her away! Chain her in the galleys! She will suffer tenfold for what she just did to me!"

Lin was unmovable. Her obsidian eyes bored into Groomyer's as she thundered, "You may have made my body a slave, but you will never conquer my mind. Someday, Groomyer, I will return, and then . . . ah, then, you will fall to a warrior greater then you!"

A club cracked across the back of her skull. Moments later, she was chained to an oar alongside a mangy otter.

Three seasons of pulling a heavy oar took its toll on the squirrelmaid. She grew thin on the hard work and scanty food. She was always exhausted, snatching some rest whenever possible. But her spirit remained intact, carrying her through the time of hardship. The tales of some of her fellow slaves made her own seem minute in comparison. The sufferings inflicted on them all daily made her blood boil. But there was nothing she could do about it.

††

"There's not much else to tell," Lin said. Tam, Armel, Melanda, and Doogy had sat entranced throughout the narrative. "The ship was wrecked, I escaped, traveled east, and found a ford. I was attacked by pike trying to cross it; that's how I injured my leg. After that, Tam and Doogy found me and brought me here. You all know the rest."

Tam was amazed at the amount of suffering the squirrelmaid had endured. "How did you survive through all of that?"

"My promise to Groomyer," Lin replied simply.

"What promise?" Armel asked.

"My promise to return to Tarenta."

Doogy cut in. "So, once ye're better, ye're goin' tae leave for your island?"

Lin nodded. "Aye."

Melanda was pondering. Her question came as a bit of a surprise to the others. "What was the object that your mother gave you?"

Lin blinked in surprise. "I didn't tell you? It was this." She parted the fur on her wrist. A thin gold bracelet twinkled in the firelight. The gold had been fashioned into scrolls, like the waves of the sea. In between every other pair of scrolls was a tiny diamond. The whole thing was exquisitely made, but very strong.

Armel exclaimed at the little bit of jewelry. "It's beautiful! Do you know where it came from?"

Lin shook her head. "No. it's been passed down ever since the first Lindenton came ashore. Only close relatives know about it. It's really nothing, but I take care of it because it's my last link to my mother."

Tam looked Lin square in the eye. "Listen to me, young 'un. As long as you uphold your parents' memory, that bracelet isn't your last link to them. The mind is much stronger than some object."

Armel came to Lin's defense. "Tam, the bracelet's more than a link to her late mother; it's a link to all the past carriers of it, which, according to Lin, were all ancestors of hers. Now, if you will just relax, it's high time we were all in bed." She yawned. "I don't care what you lot say, but I'm going to go sleep."

The other four agreed. One by one, they slipped off to their beds, thinking about the tale they had just heard.

Lin, however, lay awake for a long time, thinking about Jome, her parents, her sister, and most of all, about her promise to Groomyer.

She would return!

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything from any of the Redwalls; that stuff belongs to Brian Jaques. the rest is all my own creations._

_Hint: Tarenta is about the same size and roughly the same shape as the island of Kauai in the Hawaiian islands._

* * *


	6. Watched Over

5: Watched Over

_5: Watched Over_

As the winter season passed, Lin got rather unruly. She was determined to be on her feet by the spring feast, but Armel refused to let her out of bed. Tam questioned this. "She is so full of energy; why not at least let her use crutches?"

Armel put her foot down. "She has too much spirit for her own good. She would hurt herself even further if she was allowed to use crutches. She would push herself beyond her limit. No, I won't let her use crutches, but she will be walking by the spring feast; that I can promise you."

Unbeknownst to anybeast, Lin had taken matters into her own paws. She would get up and exercise every night after everybeast had gone to bed. At first this was just to strengthen her arms and good leg, but as the winter progressed she began limping around the infirmary. Her bad leg complained loudly at first, causing her to sit down hard on her bed gasping with pain. But soon she could manage a steady walk around the perimeter of the room.

As the weeks passed, the first signs of spring began to appear. Tiny green spears started popping up in the gardens, buds appeared on the trees, and the air steadily grew less frigid. Preparations began for the spring planting, headed by Brother Demple. The former gardener still had a great love for planting, and every spring he could be found out in the row of fruits and vegetables, planting, hoeing, digging, and weeding. His good friend Sister Screeve was almost always with him, tending to the lighter work. The old mouse was determined not to let her seasons catch up with her, and she continued her gardening duties just as she had done for seasons.

As the weather grew warmer, the dibbuns began complaining that they weren't allowed on the pond to skate. Lin patiently explained to the youngsters time and time again the dangers of thin ice, but they never seemed to listen. The biggest troublemaker was a mousebabe named Kitt, who constantly tried to argue Lin's point. The squirrelmaid tried not to laugh at some of his opinions, his favorite being his belief that the pond "Like Dibbuns more then silly bigbeasts."

One morning, Lin decided to do a little walking. Armel, Tam, Doogy, and Melanda were all out helping with the preparations for the spring planting, and Lin knew that they wouldn't be coming into the infirmary for at least an hour.

She slid out of bed. She had been walking for the past three weeks, and her leg had been vastly strengthened. Although she limped, her walk was steady and Lin wished Armel would take the bandage off so she could move without hindrance.

Suddenly she heard squeals and shrieks of merriment coming from outside. Lin went over to the window to see what all the commotion was about.

And gasped with fear.

Kitt the mousebabe was sliding about on the icy pond. The other dibbuns were watching him and squealing with glee, for he was putting on quite a performance. Footpaws moving like lightning, he was executing spins, jumps, cartwheels, and all kinds of acrobatics. Lin wondered how long the ice would hold up.

Then it happened. Kitt put on speed, sliding strait across the pond. As he drew near the bank he whirled around, turning a cartwheel and ending with a spin and a jump. It was too much for his balance. He wobbled, slipped, and crashed to one side. The thin ice gave way and the mousebabe fell through. He did not resurface.

Lin gasped with horror. At the same time, spots danced before her vision. A huge black squirrel, almost a mirror image of herself, stood before her. The squirrel wore a simple brown tunic and a flowing blue cloak. Her eyes were like iron as she thundered, "Save him! save him from my fate!"

Strength coursed through Lin's veins. A plan quickly formed in her mind as she bent, grasped her bandage with both paws, and pulled. With a tremendous tearing sound, the bandage split down the middle.

Lin dropped the thing and leaped to the windowsill. The weatherworn stone was rough and easy to grip. Claws latched in convenient pawholds, Lin swung herself out the window. Paw over paw, the squirrelmaid began climbing down the Abbey wall.

Tam and Doogy rounded the corner of the Main Abbey building, on their way to fetch more gardening tools. Their quick eyes spotted Lin climbing down the Abbey wall. At first they were stunned, but they quickly recovered themselves. Tam was the first to move, bolting toward the squirrelmaid. Doogy followed close at his heels.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lin saw the two warriors racing toward her. She paused just long enough in her decent to yell out to them, "The pond! Kitt's fallen into the pond!"

Tam and Doogy barely heard what she said. Tam was the first to realize what she was saying. "Doogy, the pond, quickly!"

Doogy muttered grimly, "We're goin tae need all the help we can get, laddie. I'll go fetch Skipper an' his crew. Ye go get Armel, Melanda, and Sister Mimsie; they're off by the Gatehouse."

It only took the pair a few moments to fetch help, but Lin used that time to the fullest. As soon as she was close enough, she leaped to the ground. Recovering herself quickly, she set off at a dead run toward the pond. She limped on her injured right leg, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

As Tam, Doogy, and their crew raced up to the pond from one direction, Lin went flying in from another. She leaped out over the pond in a long, low dive that did credit to her seasons by the ocean. With a splash she hit the water and vanished.

Tam got busy. Issuing orders like a drill sergeant, he sent several creatures to get a fishing net and others for a stretcher. He himself took a spade and began smashing the ice to create a pathway of sorts to the hole.

Down, down Lin swam. The water was frigidly cold and darker then she had expected. Using the little light there was, she searched for the mousebabe.

She suddenly spotted him some way down. His heavy winter jacket was caught on a tree branch that must have fallen in seasons ago. Lin wondered why he wasn't trying to free himself.

Then she saw why. He was unconscious. Having had no time to draw breath before he went under, Kitt had passed out from oxygen depravation. The mousebabe looked ashen; Lin guessed that he had breathed in water.

Her strong paws pulled Kitt off the branch. Her want for air made her move faster. Kicking out, she pushed off from the bottom and began swimming upward. By now her lungs were burning for air. Kitt's weight dragging her down, she swam toward the spot of sunlight guiding her at the surface.

They broke the surface together, the unconscious mousebabe and the panting squirrelmaid. Lin spotted Skipper wading toward her. Without a word she shoved Kitt toward him. His strong paws grasped the mousebabe, and the big otter headed for shore.

Lin saw Tam and Doogy on the bank. She was about to call out to them when Tam grabbed something lying on the bank and threw it toward her. In surprise, Lin jerked back. Her head struck the jagged rim of the hole. Half stunned, she began to sink.

Lin's vision was blurry; she couldn't see properly. Her head was ringing from the force of her contact with the ice. The frigid water seemed to turn her limbs to lead. The breath had been knocked from her on impact, and her lungs felt as if they were on fire.

A shadow passed over her. A moment later, Lin felt a strong paw clamp onto her shoulder. The strength and confidence that flowed from the creature got Lin moving. A few quick strokes was all it took for her to reach the surface. Gratefully, she gulped in air.

As her vision cleared, she stared at her rescuer. He was a powerful-looking mouse in his prime with strong features and a friendly smile. But what Lin noticed most was his eyes. They were the eyes of a warrior born and bred; fearless, brave, and true. Although they were piercing, they didn't bore into Lin's mind; instead, power seemed to flow from them.

"Come; grab hold of the net there. Your friends will pull you ashore."

Lin blinked and shook her head. The mouse's voice seemed to come from inside her head, as if she wasn't physically hearing it. She whispered in a questioning voice, "Who are you?"

The mouse shook his head. "No time for that now. Here, grab that." he pointed to the end of a fish net.

Lin didn't move. "I – I can't."

The mouse argued back. "Why not?"

Lin tried to think. "I – I just don't have the strength."

The mouse turned the question around. "Listen to me; you are strong enough, both physically and mentally. You are one of the most strong-willed and powerful creatures ever to enter Redwall. You have abundant bravery, and your strength is almost boundless. Now, if you want to get out of this pond, all you have to do is the simple task of holding on to this net."

Lin grasped the woven rush net. She could feel several creatures hauling on the opposite end. In the momentary commotion, she lost sight of her rescuer.

Then she was on the bank, being wrapped in a soft towel by Armel. Tam was patting her back, and Doogy was disentangling her from the net. Kitt was lying nearby on a stretcher. Lin's first words were; "Will he be all right?"

Armel, busily drying Lin off, asked distractedly, "Will who be all right?"

"Kitt?"

"Oh, him. Yes, he'll be fine after he gets a good rubdown and a good spanking. Huh, disobedient rascal!"

Lin couldn't help but smile at the squirrelmum. Tam placed a paw on her shoulder. "That was one of the bravest and most foolish things I have ever seen, Lin. You are a true warrior. Very few creatures would just jump into almost-freezing water without a thought like that. I doubt Doogy or I would, or Skipper, for that matter."

Lin shivered. Doogy tossed the net aside. "I think the wee lassie needs tae get inside to a warm bed an' a nice cup of tea."

Armel clipped his ear. "You're just thinking of your own stomach, Doogy Plumm. Lin needs to get dried off in Cavern hole in front of the fire first. Mimsie, Melanda, will you two take Kitt up to the infirmary? He needs plenty of rest."

The two maids grinned at each other and saluted. "Aye, Captain!"

Armel advanced on them. "If you two young rips aren't on your way by the time I count to three, it's to bed with no supper for the pair of you!"

Laughing uproariously, Melanda and Mimsie picked up the stretcher bearing the mousebabe and hurried off toward the infirmary. Sister Mimsie called mockingly over her shoulder as they vanished inside Great Hall, "Aye, Captain!"

The creatures by the pond dissolved into peals of laughter. Skipper, holding his sides, roared, "Captain, marm, if'n you'll direct me to the barracks, I'll be ready on parade in five minutes. Hahahahahaha!"

Armel smacked his rudder. "Don't you talk like that to me, or you'll be wailing in your bed tonight for a crust of bread!"

Skipper snickered. "Oh, mercy, Captain, mercy, please! I'll scrub the barracks from top to bottom if you'll just let me at the scoff!"

Shrieks of laughter rang out as Armel chased Skipper all around the lawn, waving a thin piece of firewood like a pace stick and shouting, "Just let me catch you, you scoffing scoundrel, and you'll be howling for mercy so that the stones can hear you!"

††

Some time later Lin, Tam, Armel, and Doogy were walking through Great Hall on their way to Cavern Hole when Lin suddenly stopped. Tam tapped her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Lin nodded toward the tapestry. "Why is that mouse on the tapestry there?"

Tam was taken aback. "We never told you? That is Martin the Warrior, the founder of Redwall and Redwall's first champion. He died long ago, but his sword has been given to many different warriors; I the latest of these." He bowed as he said the last few words.

Lin still looked questioning. "If he died seasons ago, then why was he in the pond with me earlier?"

Three pairs of eyes stared at her. "What did you say?" Tam gasped.

"That mouse, or somebeast who looks exactly like him, was in the pond with me."

Armel shook her head. "There was no beast in the pond except yourself and Kitt, and he looks nothing like Martin."

A stubborn look entered Lin's eyes. "Yes, that mouse was there. He pulled me up – no, he gave me the will to swim up – after I went under that second time. And he spoke to me after that – no, I heard his voice inside my head, but I don't think he actually talked like an ordinary beast would."

Tam, Doogy, and Armel looked at each other. Then Tam spoke. "I remember something like this seasons ago. I was on the wall top with Skipper and Wonwill during the Seasons of the Savage. It was that morning when we were exchanging terms with Gulo; he had Doogy prisoner. I remember suddenly seeing Martin in front of me; he spoke to me, told me what to do – and then vanished. I'd nearly forgotten about it until now."

Armel placed a paw on her husband's arm. There was a moment of awkward silence that was broken by Doogy. "Well, Martin appeared tae her in a similar way that she appeared tae ye, Tam; that much is clear. Did he give ye any rhymes or riddles, Lin?"

The squirrelmaid shook her head. "No. he just gave me a dressing down for thinking myself a weak coward."

Murmurs of surprise greeted this remark. Armel summed up the conversation. "Martin has been known to do things like that once or twice before. If something like that happens again, Lin, try to remember everything he says. When Martin usually appears, he gives a riddle or rhyme that must be figured out to find something of importance, such as directions to a location. But enough of this. We were going to Cavern Hole for a cup of tea, I believe?"

††

That night, Lin lay asleep. Her dreams were strange. She was walking through a wood. The sound of a stream filled her ears, and the deep grass bent under her footpaws. Here and there a butterfly flitted in and out of the beams of light, alighting on a flower. But there were no signs of anybeast anywhere.

Then a path lined with beautiful rosebushes appeared in front of the squirrelmaid. Glancing down the path, she saw two creatures walking toward her. One was the big black squirrel she had seen that morning. The other was Martin the Warrior. His sword, the same sword that Tam carried, glinted in the light. His eyes were the same as at the pond that morning.

The Warrior's voice rang through her head. "Remember, Lin, that my companion and I will always watch over you wherever you go. You have a long path ahead of you, and you must be ready to endure it."

The squirrel then stepped forward. The woodland scene vanished, replaced by one of squirrels in chains being threatened by vermin. The big black squirrel pointed at the squirrels. "They need you, Lin. Your tribe awaits your return."

The scene changed again. A heavy mist engulfed Lin as she listened to the squirrel and Martin. "Remember, the way is in the stone. The way is in the stone. The way is in the stone . . ."

* * *

_Yes, I know this was kind of a filler chapter, but I still included it because I thought it brought out Lin's character. Plese R&R!_

* * *


	7. Two so Different

6:

_6: Two so Different_

The rising sun shone down on a reasonably large island in the middle of the ocean. Palms, oaks, conifers, aspens, and other trees grew over the island's rolling hills and smooth, gently sloping northern region. Except for the beaches, stream banks, and a peninsula on the northern shore, the whole island was completely wooded. The open peninsula was sprinkled with a large number of small adobe buildings with thatched roofs. A town square on the western side of the peninsula, which faced a harbor several miles across, was at the moment crowded with an odd assortment of beasts. The whole island seemed to have a veil of fear and terror over it, especially over the little village square full of creatures.

About a third of these beasts were woodlanders in chains; the rest were vermin. Near the shore was a young otter. His paws were shackled, and he was surrounded by four heavily armed vermin guards. Opposite this forlorn group was an elevated throne covered with hides.

A murmur passed through the crowd. The creatures parted to allow a huge grey fox to pass through. His long, curved scimitar glittered in the morning light. His lusterless fur added to his evil yet handsome look. This was emphasized by his scarlet tunic and purple cloak, both of which were edged with silver thread. Behind him walked a smaller and younger edition of himself.

This young fox, whose fur had a deep luster, wore a green linen tunic belted with a strip of black material. His only weapon was a small dagger, which was tucked into the back of his belt. He carried a cushion of purple velvet, on which was a golden crown set with jewels. His downcast eyes were full of foreboding.

The big fox took his place on the skin-covered throne. The younger fox approached him, knelt, and offered him the crown. Ceremoniously, the big fox took it and placed it on his own head.

The ceremony commenced. A thin, wiry weasel with a polished breastplate stepped forward and saluted. The big fox nodded to him. "The charges, Adastro?"

The weasel, Adrastro, pointed his spear at the otter. "That'n there is charged with attempted escape, spreading rebellious rumors against yerself, Sire, and harming one of yer hordebeasts."

The fox looked as unmoving as ever. "And what does the accused have to say in his defense?"

The otter spoke up defiantly. "My name's Freestream and I have every intention of living up t' me name. Last night I did try t' escape. An oaf of a rat tried t' stop me, so I bit him. Then the rest o' yer mad horde jumped on me and knocked me out." He stood strait. "I say that anybeast who tries t' enslave others has no right t' live! Groomyer, ye may think ye're safe here surrounded by yer horde, but someday yer evil deeds will catch up t' ye. It happens t' almost every evil horde leader, ye mark my words!"

Groomyer the Ruthless listened to this tirade with an air of indifference. When the otter finished, he turned to Adrastro. "Have the accused given forty lashes, throw a bucket of seawater over him, and tie him tightly between two of the _Sharkfin's_ masts. This evening we'll fasten a rock to his neck and throw him into the harbor. The other slaves will watch his tortures." He turned away. "Be sure my orders are carried out to the fullest. Gareth, come with me."

Adastro smiled evilly. This was the kind of thing he enjoyed. He motioned to the four guards to lead the wretched otter down to the thrashing post at the end of one of the docks.

Gareth looked over his shoulder at the otter. Freestream still had a look of defiance in his eyes. The young fox nodded to himself. If the otter still had that kind of spirit, his plan would work.

††

Freestream stood grimacing with pain. His limbs were fastened tightly between two of the four masts of the _Sharkfin_, Groomyer's flagship. His shredded back sent daggers of pain through him. The sea water that had been tossed onto these wounds caused even more throbbing. His weary eyes traced the path of the sun as it sank nearer the horizon. It was almost time for his execution.

Footpaws sounded on the gangplank. Freestream saw Gareth, son of Groomyer; appear on the ship's deck. The fox snarled at the guard, "I'm to tie the rock to his neck now; I want you and your bunch here to go get the stone and rope. Groomyer's orders!" he snapped, as the reluctant guard seemed about to protest. "I can guard him well enough with my own little trusty here." He patted his dagger.

After the vermin had scrambled off to obey his orders, Gareth approached the otter. "Freestream?"

The otter snarled at him, "What d' ye want, vermin?"

Gareth shook his head. "Please, I don't mean to harm you in any way. I know I'm Groomyer's son, but my father and I couldn't be more different. I've come up with a plan that, if you agree to it, could save your live."

Freestream still resisted. "How do I know you're goin' t' help me, one of yer slaves?"

Gareth sighed in frustration. "Listen, Freestream, those vermin are going to be back any moment, and of you want to see the sunset tomorrow, you'd better listen to me. I'm going to tie the rock onto your neck, but I'll use a special release knot so that, when you're thrown overboard, all you have to do is pull on the loose end of the rope and it'll come undone. D'you agree to it?"

Freestream considered the fox. "I don't know whether to trust ye or not, mate, but I guess I'll have to."

Gareth patted the otter's shoulder. "Freestream, promise me something. When you do get free, come back someday to free me?"

Freestream was startled at the sadness in the fox's eyes. "Aye, mate, I give ye me word. And promise me something, too. The other slaves are in desperate need o' cheer. Visit them fer me and tell them o' my escape. And try t' find a way t' get them out o' here if ye possibly can. Her, take this." He nodded toward a band of material on his wrist. The strips were woven together in a fascinating pattern. "The others'll recognize that. Tell them that I gave it to you freely."

Gareth smiled as he unfastened the band. "That's kind of a big order, mate, but I'll do my best. Shush now; here come the guards."

The guards dropped a fair-sized rock and a short coil of rope onto the deck. Gareth snarled at them, "Well, what're you lot staring at? Get back to your posts!" The vermin scurried to obey his orders.

Gareth speedily tied the stone and rope to Freestream's neck. With a wink at the otter, the fox tugged at the loose end of the rope. True to his word, it came loose. Retying it swiftly, he called out, "Guards, stay at your posts. I'll go tell Groomyer that everything's ready."

Moments later, the horde leader came aboard with his son following close behind. Groomyer glanced at the stone approvingly. "The stone was well chosen. Are the slaves all assembled on the beach?"

Adastro, who had just come up the gangplank, saluted. "Yes, Sire, everybeast is watching."

Groomyer nodded at his son. "Cut him loose."

Gareth untied the ropes that held Freestream's wrists to the masts. With the help of three hordebeasts, he pushed the otter onto a platform that overhung the edge of the ship.

Groomyer bowed to Adastro. "As the beast who captured this prisoner, you may have the honor of pushing him off."

Adastro signaled to two of the other vermin to guide the rock off the edge. With an unceremonious shove, he pushed the otter off the ship and into the harbor.

Gareth, watching over the rail, saw Freestream's paw flash to the rope as he hit the water. A few moments later, his keen eyes saw the otter surface for breath some distance away. The young fox breathed a sigh of relief. Freestream had made it to freedom.

††

That evening, Groomyer strolled on the beach on the seaward side of the peninsula. He was mentally putting the finishing touches on his castle-to-be. It was to be on the highest hill on Tarenta. The great building would be visible for miles around and would strike fear in the hearts of everybeast who saw it. The beaches of the island were to be ringed with walls that reached down into the water. The harbor would have a guard tower on either side, to prevent enemy ships from entering. It would be flawless! There would be no place for an enemy to land, and his vermin horde would defend it for him.

He smiled evilly as he imagined the slave compound. It would be like a huge iron cage, with a door in one side to allow the slaves to be marched in and out in the morning and evening. The sentences for disobedience and slacking would be harsh, perhaps harsher then the punishment he had given to that rebellious otter that morning.

He wouldn't have smiled if he could have heard the whisper on the wind.

"They will be free!"

* * *

__

Well, come on, tell me; is Groomyer living up to his title of 'The Ruthless?' it took me all day to come up with a chapter that got a glimpse of both Groomyer's and Gareth's personalities. Please review and tell me of you liked it or not. Stay tuned for more chapters!


	8. Secret in Stone

7: Secret in Stone

_7: Secret in Stone_

"Come back here, you rascal!"

A haremum was chasing a leveret round and round the Abbey grounds. Lin, Melanda, and Armel's friend Brookflow the otter looked up from where they were washing linens in the pond and laughed at the scene. The haremum, whose name was Kersey DeMayne, paused in her headlong pursuit of the leveret to call over to the merry trio, "If any one of you three chapesses would be so kind as to lend one of your jolly paws here, I'd be very much obliged, wot!"

The three maids by the pond fell about laughing as Dauncey DeMayne, the young hare, paused in his flight just long enough to scoop up a pawful of mud. Pulling a face in his mother's direction, he hurled the slimy missile.

Splat!

The flying glob of mud struck Kersey on the nose as she turned round. The haremum was outraged. Wiping the mess from her face, she went hurtling after her rebellious son, shouting, "Ooh, just let me get my paws on you, you little turncoat, wot! I'll scrub your ears until they're red! Come over here this instant, laddie buck, or I'll get your father!"

Brookflow, or Brooky as everybeast called her, was well known for her almost ceaseless laughter. She slapped the water with her rudder, whooping, "Catch the little rip, Kersey! Woohoohahahaha! Oh, look's like we're needed, mates; Kersey's fallen into the pond. Hahahahahahahahahaha!"

The former Salamandastron hare was a good swimmer. She hauled herself to the shore, still shouting threats at her scapegoat son. "C'mere, you running wad of rags, or I'll jolly well tear you limb from limb, wot wot!"

Melanda and Lin went after Dauncey while Brooky assisted Kersey. "Sorry about the spill and all, mate, but ye did look awfully funny. Woohoohahahahahahaha!"

Kersey was not amused. "Funny, my auntie's bonnet! Where has that rapscallion of a hare got to, wot?"

Melanda and Lin were chasing after Dauncey. He was a good runner, staying just ahead of their grasping paws. The merry chase led all over the lawn, through the shallows of the pond, under drying laundry, and across the flower beds. Finally the leveret raced up the steps at the southwest corner of the outer walls.

The two pursuing maids raced up after him, hot on his heels. Dauncey tried to run down the South Wall, but Melanda leaped the last few steps and jumped in front of him. Lin cut off his escape down the West Wall.

Melanda swooped down on the unfortunate youngster and scooped him up in her arms. With Dauncey squirming in her strong grasp, she turned to Lin. To her surprise, she saw Lin standing against the southwestern corner, where the two walls joined. Her face had changed. The cheerful, laughing maid from a moment before had been replaced by a wistful, almost sorrowful look.

It was the eyes that had changed the most, however. Merriment had danced in them a second ago; now, they were filled with sadness. And anger. Anger that only a creature who has seen death in its most gruesome form can suffer from.

Melanda was about to step back when Lin began to speak in a much different voice then her usual feminine baritone.

"The way to home lies in the stone,  
Below the searching paws.  
The pathway protrudes like a raw bone,  
Defying nature's laws."

The squirrelmaid shook her head, grasping the ramparts to steady herself. Melanda had put Dauncey down; they both stood staring at the black squirrelmaid.

Melanda placed a paw on her friend's shoulder. "Lin? Are you all right?"

Lin blinked; then she turned to face Melanda. "I don't know. I could have sworn that I just saw Martin the Warrior and a big black squirrel right in front of me. They said some kind of riddle; it was four verses long, and had something to do with bones . . . I can't remember!"

To the utter surprise of both maids, Dauncey began reciting the short rhyme in his dibbun fashion.

"The way t' home lies inna stone,  
Below the searchin' paws.  
The pathway protrudes like a raw bone,  
Defyin' nature's laws."

Melanda and Lin stared at him. "How did you remember all of that?" Lin questioned.

Dauncey shrugged. "I'da know. I jus' did."

Melanda swept him up and hugged him. "You might have saved us days of breaking our skulls trying to remember that little verse. Just for that, I'll have Friar Glisum make a whole vegetable pastie just for you!"

Dauncey wiggled out of her grasp. "Well, are you goin' t' figger the riggle out, or are ye jus' gonna sit there an' snuggle me?"

Lin barely held back a laugh at his speech, which was still spotted with the quaint baby talk. "You're right, Dauncey, we should be trying to figure out the riddle. Well, before we start on the riddle itself, what are we looking for? The way home?"  
Melanda shrugged. "I suppose so. At least, that's what the first line says. But how can a way home be inside stone?"

Before anybeast could answer, Kersey and Brooky caught up with them. seeing the solemn leveret and the two puzzled squirrelmaids, they stopped. Brooky broke the silence. "Well, what have we got here? A bunch of frogs at a funeral? Waahahahahahahaha!"

Melanda smiled at the irrepressible otter. "No; Martin just sent us a riddle."

This quieted Brooky immediately. "Martin? A message? How?"

Lin told them the whole story, including the short riddle. Kersey frowned. "I can't make heads nor tails of the first three jolly old lines, but what about that bit in the fourth? 'Defying nature's laws?' Sounds like this way home must be outside, in a place that's exposed to the elements, wot."

Melanda caught on. "And if it's 'below the searching paws,' then it would be in a place where creatures walk?"

Brooky shook her head. "But if you were reaching up or around something, then whatever you were touching would be under your paws. So whatever we're looking for might be in a place that we can reach, but not where we might necessarily walk on it."

Lin looked puzzled. "I still don't understand the third line, 'the pathway protrudes like a raw bone.' How can a pathway protrude?"

Nobeast could answer this question. They puzzled over it as they set about their chores of the day. They puzzled over it as they took tea. They were still puzzling over it after supper. The three were sitting in the infirmary together when Tam, Armel, and Doogy entered.

Doogy looked at the four creatures sitting on a bed and chuckled. "Well, haven't we got a bunch of mopin' beasties here. Wot's the bother? Has Dauncey run off? The supplies run oot?"

Melanda shook her head. "No, Uncle Doogy, it's not that. Martin has sent us a message." And she repeated the tale of that morning.

The three squirrels were amazed. Tam questioned, "And what part o' this riddle are you all stuck on? It sounds simple enough."

Kersey repeated the confusing line. "The pathway protrudes like a raw bone."

"What's that you just said? Is somebeast injured?"

Everybeast turned round. There stood Sister Mimsie in the doorway. She held up a paw. "Sorry to intrude, but what was that about bones?"

The story of the morning was repeated yet again. When it was finished, Mimsie stood for a moment, thinking. Then she looked up. "Armel, do you remember when we bandaged Lin's broken leg?"

Armel nodded vehemently. "Aye; that I do, and I'm not likely to forget it either! That bone looked so painful sticking out like that –"

"Exactly. The stone where the way home is placed is sticking out something like that, although I'd say it would be more at right angles."

A silence followed this, broken by Melanda. She turned to Lin. "In what direction do you think Tarenta would be from here?"

Lin looked quizzically at her. "I'd say roughly southeast. Why?"

Melanda jumped up. "that's where it has to be! The southwestern ramparts!"

Her father blinked. "What makes you think that?"

Melanda explained. "Lin's home is to the southeast of Redwall. It's Lin's home that she's looking for, and she was the one to receive the message. The way home is 'in the stone.' It also 'protrudes like a raw bone,' and 'defies nature's laws.' The ramparts are definitely out in the elements, the raised portions protrude, and they're made of stone. why shouldn't it be the southwestern ramparts?"

Brooky raised her paw. "Beg pardon, marm, but what about the line 'below the searching paws? I think you overlooked that in your lesson on riddle solving, hohohohohohoho!"

Armel stood up. "I think that I can solve that problem."

Mystified, the others followed her outdoors. The squirrelmum went strait to the southwestern corner of the walls. "Lin, reach round that corner rampart and tell me if you can feel anything out of the ordinary."

Lin, obeyed, running her paw up and down the outer corner. "Yes! There is something there, but I can't tell what it is. It feels like the corner of one of the blocks has been rounded off to make a smoother place to chip something."

Armel nodded. "I found that stone when I was Dauncey's age. There is writing there, but I've forgotten what it said." She gestured with her paw. "The rounded edge is actually a smaller stone cemented onto the actual block. If you go fetch a hammer and chisel, you could probably remove it for closer inspection."

Doogy was off in an instant for the tools. Tam looked at his wife. "How did you know about this?"

Armel smiled. "I was trying to hide from Sister Screeve when I was Dauncey's age. I climbed over the edge and hung onto the stone to hide. I saw the writing, but I couldn't read all of it and thought it of no importance. I only just remembered it a moment ago."

Brooky chuckled. "Aye, weren't we a pair of young rips back then, Armel. Look at us now, just two old fogies, hahahahahahahahaha!"

Doogy arrived back a moment later. He stuck his nose in the air. "Since I just did the hard task o' goin' all the way tae the mason's shed tae fetch these tools, I think I've earned the honor o' removin' the stone, eh?"

Tam smiled. "Be my guest!"

After a few minutes of chiseling, Doogy climbed back up to the walkway. Lin rushed up to him. "Do you have it?"

Doogy nodded. "Aye, but I can't see a thing in this light. Let's go back tae Cavern Hole an' have a nice cup o' tea while we read this. I'm all tuckered oot!"

Kersey agreed heartily. "I'm all in favor, wot! Tea with a good plate of scones and cream, some tarts, and perhaps a few of those deeper'n'ever pies the moles make – hold on a bally minute, where do you chaps think you're off to?"

Brooky called back, "We're just going t' have some tea, scones, tarts, and perhaps a deeper'n'ever pie apiece. Woohoohahahahahahahaha!"

††

A short while later, the eight creatures sat by a fire in Cavern Hole sipping mint tea. Armel held the stone in her paw. "Well, are you bunch ready for me to read this?"

Lin spoke for them all. "Aye!"

Armel smiled. "Short and sweet answer, eh? Well, here it is . . ."

* * *

_Yes, that was a boring chapter (at least, boring in comparison to some later chapters I have planned!) However, it was nessasary to get the story home. Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon!_

_By the way, some of you seem to be confused about a coment I made in my story summary; I said Foeseeker had spoilers for both Rakkety Tam and Legend of Luke. Well, you've seen the Rakkety Tam part, but you ask, "Where is Legind of Luke?" All that comes in later, don't worry. also, Lin is not (I won't mention the name) the squirrel from Legend of Luke. I think I just answered your questions there, Mariel of RW._


	9. Good out of Evil

8: Good out of Evil

_8: Good out of Evil_

Gareth tossed and turned in his sleep. His mind was bogged down with the past evil deeds of his father and his father's horde. The young fox had secretly taken the responsibility of turning the evil into good some seasons ago. It was a hard and lonely life, but Gareth knew it was the right one.

A question that was all too familiar to him bounced around in his mind. Why had he decided to help the victims of the horde instead of torturing them? Why had he chosen the path of hardship rather then the one of ease?

Gareth flinched. He knew the answer as vividly as he remembered her face. Her sweet, melodious voice. Her last words to him.

††

"Gareth, my son, come here."

Gareth, who was still a youngster, grasped his mother's paw, which was limp from long illness. "You wanted me, Mama?"

Vilotta smiled weakly. "Yes, I did my little one. Listen to me. I have something of great importance to tell you.

"Long ago, I was a peaceful creature. I lived with about half a dozen other so-called vermin. We lived peacefully in the woods away from other vermin, for we were woodlanders at heart.

"Then your father came. He captured all of us and forced us into his horde. When he saw me, he thought that I was the prettiest vixen he had ever seen.

"Later that day, he called me to his cabin. Before I quite knew what was happening he and I were married, and that is how you came into the world.

"You do not have your father's heart, I can tell. You are kind, gentle, and more like a peaceful woodlander then an evil hordebeast. Gareth, you must promise me something."

Gareth bowed his head. "I promise you anything."

Vilotta smiled. "I want you to pledge never to harm a woodlander or vermin unless it is necessary to protect them. you may also fight them if they try to take your life. Do you understand what I mean?"

The still-very-young fox looked a little confused. "I think so. I must never hurt anybeast unless they try to slay me. The only other time I may harm somebeast is when I must hurt them to protect them." He shook his head. "How can hurting somebeast protect them?"

Vilotta patted his head. "You'll understand someday. Now, do you promise to never harm a living creature unless it is absolutely necessary?"

Gareth drew his little dagger. "I swear upon my blade never to use it unless my life depends on it. I will never raise my paw in violence except in defense of others, and will help others when they need my help."

His mother smiled proudly. "The oath of a true warrior. I will be watching you from above, Gareth. I'm proud of you."

Gareth sheathed his little weapon. "I will never let you down, Mama. I will always uphold my vow, no matter what happens."

Vilotta was satisfied. Leaning back onto the pillow, she closed her eyes.

††

Gareth's eyes were moist even in sleep. Those last moments with his mother were still as vivid as they had been when she had died ten seasons ago. He thought of her; a beautiful sandy-red vixen, with deep brown eyes and a voice like wind through willows. He had never seen her harm a living creature, and she had reared him like a genuine mother should.

Gareth smiled proudly in his sleep. "Don't worry, Mama, I have kept my vow; I know it is the right thing to do, and I have learned what you meant when you said that I might have to hurt others to help them."

A voice spoke in his mind. "Yes you have, Gareth, and I'm proud of you. But there are still scores of others needing your help; starving, ill, weak creatures who need a friend. You must go to them. Now."

Gareth gasped. "Mama?"

The voice spoke again. "Yes, that is me. Now do as I command you. Fill two sacks with food and take them to the slave compound. Place the sacks by an old mouse with a circular scar on his face. Then wake him. He and I were very close friends long ago, and he will accept you as my son."

Gareth jolted awake. There was nobeast save himself in the room. Had he been dreaming?

Then he remembered his mother's instructions. Springing out of bed, he reached for Freestream's braided band. Carrying this with him, he slipped out of the former chieftain's house where he and his father now dwelt.

The storehouses that held food were not far away. Gareth found two large sacks inside one of them and quickly commenced to fill these with food. Vegetables, fruit, bread, smoked fish, and nuts all went into the jumble of edibles. When he finished, it was the work of a moment for the young fox to tie the mouths of the sacks shut with some cast-off twine.

As he slipped through the shadows, Gareth took note of each sentry that he passed. All of the vermin on guard looked ready to drop down and sleep where they were. None were keeping adequate watch. The fox slipped by them without any trouble whatsoever.

Gareth approached the slave compound. It was built of thick, sturdy tree trunks that were reinforced with iron bars. The pointed ends of the trunks reached into the sky like a row of giant spears. The double doors on the one side were fastened shut with a strong chain and lock.

As the son of Groomyer, Gareth was entitled to carry the keys to almost every major lock in the village. These included the key to the slave compound. The fox drew the bunch of keys from his belt. It took a moment for the correct key to be selected but once it was found Gareth opened the compound door and slipped inside.

The scores of slaves were ranged on bunks three high all around the perimeter of the compound. The middle of the enclosure was occupied by a few small fires. An air of hopelessness hung over the whole place.

Gareth looked around for the old mouse his mother had mentioned. He was easy to spot; lying on one of the lowest bunks, his scarred cheek was in full firelight. His ragged garb was covered by a blanket, and his still, old face looked serene.

Gareth placed the sacks by the old one. Then he gave him a gentle shake. "Sir! Sir, wake up! I have something to give you!"

The old mouse blinked. When he saw Gareth he seemed about to speak. Gareth cut him off. "Hush, don't wake the little ones; I don't want them to see me." He then explained about his dream and handed Freestream's band to the mouse. He told of how he had helped the otter escape. "Just before he was pushed off the side he gave me this; he told me to show it to his friends, that they would recognize it."

The mouse looked overwhelmed. "I – I just can't believe it. Vilotta's son, raised by Groomyer, is helping slaves!" He shook his head. "Unbelievable!" He turned to the fox. "You are called Gareth, I presume?"

Gareth bowed. "Aye, that I am. And who might I be addressing?"

"My name is Watton. I come from the wooded lands far to the south. Your mother and I were good friends, but when your father came . . . well . . ."

"I know all about it," Gareth said quickly. "Now, I've brought you and your friends some food. There's not much, but everybeast should get something."

Watton grasped the fox's paws tightly. "I can't thank you enough, friend. Now, shall I wake the others? I'm sure they'll all want to meet you."

But Gareth drew back. "Nay, friend, I won't. Young ones or gossipy adults might talk about this in a hordebeast's presence, and then it would be done for me. No, you wake them, but do it quietly and in groups. Too many creatures awake and moving about in here at this hour will most certainly attract attention. Only wake about forty adults at a time and tell them that a friend has brought them food. Let them take some for their young ones and themselves and warn them not to speak of it during the day. When they've gone back to sleep, pass the duty of food-dealer to a trusted friend and get some rest yourself."

Watton smiled. "May the seasons bless you for your kindness, and may your mother watch over you."

Gareth bowed. Slipping out of the compound, he locked the door and arranged the chain in exactly the same position he had found it. Smiling at the subdued excitement inside the compound, he glided back the way he had come, wiping out his tracks as he did so.

Later, as he climbed sleepily into his cot, Gareth's heart felt warmer then it had in days. The joy of the slaves he had left behind had been contagious, and it had filtered into him. a smile crossed his face as he drifted off to sleep.

††

Gareth stood on the beach, looking out over the sea. The moon was rising on the horizon, looking bigger then it usually did. He squinted at its brilliance.

Then a figure came walking towards Gareth down the pathway the moon's reflection made on the water. As the figure drew closer, Gareth recognized it.

"Mama!" he cried, rushing forward to meet her. They embraced for a long minute. Gareth wished this moment would never end.

But it did. His mother finally broke away from his embrace, laughing. "If you hug me any longer I'll suffocate! Oh, Gareth, it's good to see you again."

"I'm glad to see you, too," Gareth replied. Her stared at her wonderingly. When he had last seen her, Vilotta had been thin, wasted away from illness, old from long suffering, and dressed in a dirty, worn dress. Now, she looked fresh and alive. She seemed younger then she had been, and was somewhat taller then Gareth. Her body was well fleshed out, and her ragged garb had been traded for a gown of sky-blue silk that perfectly matched her sandy-red fur. A wreath of snow-white daises crowned her brow.

Gareth breathed in sharply. "You look beautiful."

Vilotta smiled. "You've changed a great deal, too. You used to have my face, and your fur was more like mine. Look at you now, a spitting image of your father!"

"Maybe so, but he still has your eyes."

Gareth looked behind his mother. A squirrel and a mouse were approaching them. The squirrel was a big, tough-looking female with powerful paws. The mouse wore a red jerkin with a black leather belt. It was this one that had spoken.

Vilotta looked over at the two newcomers. "Oh, I was wondering where you were, Martin." She turned to her son. "Gareth, this is Martin the Warrior. He and his companion have a message for you."

The mouse and squirrel spoke in low voices that Gareth heard clearly. "Be ready and prepared, for the time for the time of uprising is near." The mouse raised a paw. "Look for the others." Without another word, they turned and walked away, vanishing into the light of the moon.

Vilotta hugged her son again. "I must go with them, Gareth, but I will visit you again soon, I promise!"

Gareth stood silently on that moonlit shore for ages. His mother had brought a feeling of calm, peace, and serenity with her; now, Gareth reflected on the message as the moon rose into the sky overhead.

"Be ready and prepared, for the time for the time of uprising is near!"

* * *

_I hope that you all were suprised by Gareth's backround. Please review!_


	10. A Rhyme, a Feast, and a Song

9: A Rhyme, a Song, and a Feast

_9: A Rhyme, a Feast, and a Song_

The eight creatures leaned forward as Armel read off the poem.

"If you are to reach home you will sally forth,  
Heading shout and stew from these great gates,  
And when you reach the will holloh you would go north,  
Until a fortnight lay of late.  
When you see the gaping mouths you halt,  
To find a tub sturdy and strong.  
In this you set out over the lake of salt;  
Head shoutstew and ere long;  
You will see the point of an sile,  
Spread out under the sun.  
You step onto the sand, having traveled many a mile,  
And now your journey is done."

Eight faces stared at each other in the firelight. Then eight voices all began talking at once.

"What a puzzle! I wonder what it means by a tub?"

"Sile? Shout? Stew? Sounds all mixed up to me!"

"Ooh, that bit about gaping mouths sounds scary!"

"Will holloh? What in the name of seasons is a jolly old will holloh, wot?"

"I've ne'er heard o' a lake o' salt afore."

"Quiet!"

The authoritative voice of Tam rang out. He swung his gaze round the little assembly. "I know we all want t' know what this riddle means, but we all need t' get some sleep. We can work on this tomorrow. Now, everybeast off t' their beds! We'll discuss this in the morning."

††

But they never got the chance to discuss it. The next morning Abbot Humble, the old hedgehog who had ruled Redwall since the days before Tam and Doogy arrived, announced that the springtide feast would take place in three days. The whole Abbey was thrown into cheerful chaos. Everywhere creatures could be seen cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, arranging tables, and hanging strings of bunting all about Great Hall and the Abbey grounds.

Lin could often be found in the kitchens helping with the simpler dishes. Breads, pies, soups, cakes; all were tackled willingly by the squirrelmaid. She also spent much of her time sweeping, mopping, and helping with the unruly strings of flag bunting alongside Tam and his crew.

Tam was in command of the group of beasts who were in charge of putting up the decorations. Most of these were squirrels along with some mice, otters, and the odd hedgehog. These creatures went to work stringing the bunting, hanging out banners, and placing garlands of pine branches and flowers throughout the Abbey grounds and Great Hall.

The elders, who were backed by several active, agile beasts, were setting up the games. Quoits, croquet, an archery contest with de-headed arrows, agility and acrobatic contests, and various races were all arranged out on the lawns. Later, during the feast, there would be a singing and dancing competition.

††

The day of the celebrations dawned bright and sunny. Birds sang in the trees of Mossflower, and insects hummed on the flatlands. Lin slept peacefully in her bed in the infirmary.

Whump!

The black squirrelmaid sat up, indignantly blinking sleep from her eyes as she glared at a tubby molebabe. "Grundle, that was totally unnecessary! Did you have to hit me in the face with that pillow?"

Grundle brandished his pillow, grinning from ear to ear. "No, Mizz Lin, et twasn't unerrsersory, but you'm were layern thurr so qoietly thurt oi hard t' get ee to merk soom kernd o' noise, boi ecky oi did, hurr hurr hurr!"

Lin slowly reached for her pillow. "Oh, you thought I was too quiet, eh? Well, in that case . . ." With lightning speed she swung the pillow, catching Grundle in his plump little stomach. He clouted her playfully back. This was the signal to the half-dozen or so other dibbuns, who had followed Grundle into the infirmary, to grab their own pillows and join in. screams and yells of delight filled the room. It was a free-for-all, everybeast attacking everybeast. Pillows were everywhere, their bearers squealing and laughing in delight. The pillow fight was in full swing when a mousebabe climbed up onto a table for a better shot at his opponents.

Rrrrrrrip!

The pillow caught on the table's corner and was torn down the middle; in a trice the air was full of downy feathers. In his shock the mousebabe fell backward into a basin of water on the table behind him. Leaping out, spitting water and gasping from surprise, he fell off the table. Feathers stuck to the wet dibbun as he rolled about on the floor, trying to get his balance. Shrieks of laughter greeted the sight as the dibbun-turned-bird scrambled up and renewed his attack with a fresh pillow.

"What is all this, pray tell?"

A hushed silence broken by one or two nervous giggles fell. Lin turned to face Armel. The squirrelmum was attempting to look stern, but couldn't hide the merriment in her eyes. "Marm, that little villain Grundle hit me in the face with a pillow while I was still asleep. I simply defended myself, and this mob of dibbuns attacked me." By now the squirrelmaid could barely contain her merriment; she coughed in an attempt to hold back her laughter.

Armel turned to face the other dibbuns. Catching sight of the feather-coated mousebabe, she exclaimed, "Why, Vinnester, what happened to you?"

Vinnester spoke up in his own defense. "Me pillow rip, an' I tripped inna water. Then I fall inna feathers an' they like me."

Lin snorted with merriment. Armel kept her face strait, although her eyes twinkled. "Well, you get down to the pond and clean yourself up; the rest of you have to clean all of these feathers before you get any breakfast!"

Still giggling, Lin and the dibbuns hurried to sweep up the downy mess. With so many willing paws, the work went quickly. Armel, after watching the humorous scene for several minutes with twinkling eyes, pitched in. Merry banter went back and forth among the dibbuns, and the whole room resounded with the din of happy chatter. Lin and Armel listened to the little ones, laughing at the choices of topics, such as using a pillow as a hiding place for stolen scones.

When the task was finally finished, the whole group trooped downstairs to breakfast in Cavern Hole. Most of the Redwallers were already up and eating. The sound of many happy voices drifted through the halls of Redwall.

After the hard work of cleaning the infirmary, Lin was hungry. She selected a few of Friar Glisum's pancakes, some delicious rye bread toast with strawberry jam, and a generous portion of fruit, along with a beaker of cherry and apple cider. Then she seated herself near the MacBurls.

Tam, Armel, Melanda, and Doogy were chatting with Foremole Bruffy, who was the leader of the mole crew. Lin joined in the conversation. Friendly banter went back and forth between the friends as they munched on the fare provided by Friar Glisum and his kitchen staff.

As the Redwallers finished their food they didn't leave to start on the festivities as Lin had expected; they remained seated, looking now and then at the stairs that led into great hall. Lin wondered what this was all about. She was about to lean over and ask Melanda when Redwall's twin bells, the Matthias and the Methuselah, began to ring. An expectant hush fell over the assembled creatures as they turned as one to face the entryway to Great Hall.

Abbot Humble, with several of the prominent abbey elders, entered Cavern Hole. The old hedgehog wore a dusty-green habit that was girded with a creamy cord. He was smiling as he paused just inside the room.

The dibbuns were gathered in a knot nearby. They shouted in unison, "Th' feast, th' feast! We wanna feast!"

Abbot Humble spoke his line.

"The feast is waiting and ready, my friends; but first, outside the Hall,  
There is fun waiting out on the lawn, ready for one and all."

The Dibbuns chorused, "Izza fun games for all ta play?"

Humble stood to one side of the door, bowing and gesturing out toward Great Hall.

"Up these stairs and through the door,  
Is all the games everybeast could wish for.  
Now go and enjoy, run and play,  
For the feast begins at sundown this day."

Squeals and shrieks of delight sounded from the dibbuns as they dashed headlong up the stairs and out onto the lawn. The older creatures waited until the youngsters were well on their way before they followed, talking and laughing excitedly.

Lin had never had such a time. Different areas of the lawn were set aside for different activities. A group of young beasts and a few of the older creatures tried their paw at archery. An otter in his late teen seasons carried away the well-crafted yew bow and birch bark quiver of smooth oaken arrows that was the prize.

Many of the abbeydwellers were attracted to the area set aside for quoits. Several rounds were played, with a tie between two creatures being finally declared. The two winners were each presented with a belt of fine linen decorated with embroidery. The victors were none other then Friar Glisum and Wild Doogy Plumm.

Lin joined in several of the competitions, including blind man's bluff, a sack race, and a footrace. However, her best activities involved use of the whole body. She won several competitions, namely: climbing, an event involving acrobatics and athletics, and a treetop race specifically for squirrels. When questioned about her athletic ability she simply said, "I've grown up climbing trees and swimming in the surf and tides. It just comes naturally to me."

As the sun sank low to the horizon, the Redwallers began trooping inside. Lin fell in alongside the MacBurls as they headed toward Great Hall. Armel smiled at the squirrelmaid. "I see you won a few prizes there. Is your leg holding up well?"

She was referring to Lin's now-healed leg. Although the bone had set firmly, it was slightly crooked, giving Lin a trivial but somewhat noticeable limp. Armel was wondering if Lin was feeling any pain from her now-healed injury.

Lin smiled. "I haven't felt a twinge in it for a fortnight. It's holding up well, thanks to you and Sister Mimsie."

Tam made an elegant leg. "I trust that we'll be seeing ye in the singing contest tonight?"

Lin blinked. "Oh, I'm sure you don't want to hear one of my songs. Singing isn't really part of Tarentian culture, so I've rarely heard any."

Tam patted her shoulder. "Ye don't have to try, but we'd all like to hear ye."

There was no chance to say more, for they had reached Great Hall. Strings of bunting were hung between the columns, garlands of flowers decorated the walls, banners hung from the rafters, pine boughs lined the windows, and two tall lamps stood on either side of Martin the Warrior's tapestry. These were wound about with garlands of bluebells and tulips; roses would have been used, but these were not yet in bloom.

Three tables had been pushed together to form the buffet. Mountains of fruit, bowls of salad, baskets of rolls and scones, cauldrons of soups and stews, breads of all kinds, flans, pastries, cheeses, nuts, and more covered the three tables. Nearby, another table was set aside for the cakes, pies, tarts, candied chestnuts, and other desserts. In the corner, Burlop the cellerhog had set up his kegs of October Alle, strawberry fizz, damson wine, and other various drinks beloved by the Redwallers. The sight was enough to make anybeast's mouth water. Gasps and groans of delight greeted the sight of the delicious spread. Creatures lined up to fill their plates with the bountiful repast.

Before they set to, however, Abbot Humble said a blessing.

"We are thankful for this meal, grown from the soil,  
And for all of these Redwallers, true and loyal.  
We are thankful for this tranquil peace,  
Which is created and cultivated to a beast.  
We toast our drinks to our young ones true,  
For them to grow strait and solid as yew.  
Now, as we feast, in our repast let us pause,  
And remember the creatures who have laid down their lives for our cause."

Kersey sniffed, recalling her twin brother Dauncey, her son's namesake, who had been killed in battle. Ferdimond, her husband, patted her shoulder. Many of the older Redwallers bowed their heads, remembering others who had died in those same wars twenty seasons before.

Then a dibbun whooped, "Let's get ee gloomy frogs outside an' eat alla their food!" Others began to laugh, and the solemn mood was reburied under seasons of good memories of the deceased.

The area between the two tall, flower-draped lamps on either side of Martin's tapestry had been left clear of tables. Now it became apparent to Lin that this open area was to be used as a stage for the competing singers. These were called up one by one; sometimes they were solo, sometimes a group. Dibbuns, middle-aged beasts, and elders were all allowed to stand up and sing their little ditty. One group of dibbuns sang a particularly lively jig, singing and dancing in time with each other.

"I woke this morning an' what did I see,  
But a little old bee looking at me.  
He was wearing a waistcoat and looked so fine,  
In two little gloves that could have been mine.  
He swept off his hat and bowed so low,  
An' said 'I have some news that you might like to know.

For 'tis spring spring spring, spring spring spring,  
An' the sun shines and dances on everything.

Two little birds joined him an' said,  
It was last autumn that we were wed.  
It is in the spring that we lay our eggs,  
Flap our wings an' stretch our legs.'  
Then they all danced an' cried with glee,  
'Come come come an' dance with me!'

As 'tis spring spring spring, spring spring spring,  
An' the birds and the bees do dance and sing.

Then I got dressed an' hurried downstairs,  
For I wanted to enjoy the day so fair.  
As I munched my meal I looked out the pane  
At the grass and clouds all clear of rain.  
After breakfast I raced outside,  
For this is a day to feel alive,

'Cause 'tis spring spring spring, spring spring spring,  
An' it's time to enjoy what the seasons bring."

Applause and laughter greeted the Dibbuns as they took their bow. Tam chuckled. "Look at that rascal Kitt; he's up there with the rest o' them."

Armel shook her head, a smile crossing her face. "There's Vinnester, the little villain! Look, he still has a feather stuck in his headfur, the rogue!"

"What's Grundle – Oh!" Melanda exclaimed, for at that moment, Lin had stepped up to the open area. Her simple sandy-brown dress was set off by the light of the many lamps and candles, with a twinkle coming now and then from the bracelet on her wrist. Her face was serene and her eyes were sparkling. Her square jaw was set but relaxed, as if she knew that many eyes were watching her. Setting her footpaws firmly, she bowed her head as if thinking.

Then she began to sing. Her strong feminine baritone carried well over the clink of knife upon dish and the low murmur of voices. One by one, the Redwallers paused in their conversation; a spoon still containing soup was lowered back into the bowl. A knife was laid down in the very act of cutting a slice of pie. Beakers of drink were set down untouched as their owners listened entranced to the squirrelmaid's powerful voice.

"A vermin horde on the march,  
At their head an evil fox.  
Behind them are creatures in chains,  
Whose shackles are firmly locked.

Ride on the wave of despair,  
No hope is yet in view.  
Only the fittest can survive  
This horrible suffering through.

The whip cracks above captives' heads  
Forcing them to bend the knee.  
The slaves cringe in fear and pain  
As their captors laugh in evil glee.

The slaves are not forgotten  
As they suffer in their chains.  
A warrior great sets out in search  
To free those under the cane.

Many have tried and failed  
To conquer the vermin horde.  
The warrior faces a daunting task  
For blood will soon be poured.

The armies clash in battle,  
The warrior leading his force.  
A red mist fills his eyes  
As he fights the vermin coarse.

A cloud covers the land  
As the battle rages vast.  
Only stout hearts will turn the tide  
And rescue the slaves at last.

Evil prowls the Earth,  
Destroying all in its way.  
The strong beasts defend the weak;  
Only these will keep evil at bay."

There was a pause; then the Redwallers erupted into thunderous applause. Lin stepped off the makeshift stage and disappeared into the crowd. Murmurs ran through the crowd. "Where'd she learn that song? I've never heard it before." "What a voice! At full power, I bet she could be heard on the other side of the Abbey!" "Where's she gone? I don't see her."

Several other singers stepped up after the black squirrelmaid. A young mousemaid sang an old lullaby, and a group of moles preformed a tunneling ditty. A few of the older Abbey residents, along with a gang of dibbuns, defied their long seasons and danced a reel at record speed.

As the feasting slowed, a halt was called to the singing. The elders, who had been acting as judges, stepped out into Cavern Hole. They debated for some minutes while the other Redwallers waited with anticipation.

Finally, Abbot Humble walked onto the improvised stage. The old hedgehog's voice sounded through the columns of Great Hall. "All of our singers tonight were excellent; we also enjoyed the dancing. It was hard to choose a single ditty. However, the winning song was chosen not for its merry tune or for its theme; it definitely didn't go with the usual theme of spring and feasting. It was chosen for its spirit, the way it almost challenges a beast to stand up for what we believe; for what is right. Lindenton Tarenta, will you please step forward?"

The applause was deafening. This was suddenly curbed when Humble repeated, "Lin, will you step up here, please?"

The voice of Vinnester the mousebabe piped up. "Fada Habbit, me see Lin walkin' up t' de' infirmary."

Humble looked startled. "Why would she do that, I wonder? Well, after all that she's done today, I suppose she's exhausted." He raised his voice, addressing the Redwallers. "We'll give Lin her prize tomorrow; now, finish with your feasting. It has been a good night for all!"

Tam frowned. He motioned to Armel, who stood up to join him. The warrior squirrel murmured, "Why didn't Lin tell us that she was going t' bed? It's not like her t' sneak off like that."

Armel glanced about. "Perhaps she went to go fetch something, and only just came back? Perhaps she's on her way downstairs now."

The two hurried down the usual route to the infirmary. They searched the infirmary from top to bottom; when they didn't find her there, they searched the rest of the Abbey. Cavern Hole did not escape inspection, either. They finally met on the stairs leading from Great Hall to Cavern Hole. The simple conclusion loomed balefully in their minds.

Lin had vanished!

_

* * *

_

Well, what do you think? Please R&R!

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter; I was on vacation.

_Random comment: one thing that was bugging me was that I didn't think I was putting enough emphasis on Tam and Doogy's accents. I finally figured a way out of this (hee hee) by telling myself that, after spending five years at Redwall, they would have grown used to the method of speaking there. So, by my reasoning, they would have lost a little of their northern accent. just thought I'd put that in in case any of you are wondering about it, too._


	11. New Arrivals

10:

_10: New Arrivals_

Six of the eight ships in Groomyer the Ruthless' fleet were docked in Tarenta's harbor. Five of these ships had three masts. The sixth ship, which stood at the end of the main pier, was the most impressive, however. Its four masts were the tallest in the fleet, and it shone spotless in the setting sun. Its brass, silver, and gold trimmings sparkled like diamonds. The wooden deck was as smooth as silk. The ship's name, caved into the side, was overlaid with gold. Groomyer's flagship _Sharkfin_ had become a vessel to be feared throughout the warm seas.

At the highest point on the tallest mast on this four-masted ship fluttered a banner. It was pennant-shaped and had a purple field; this color signified Groomyer's royalty. The flag was decorated with silver, red, and gold fleur-de-lis'. There were nine of these scrolling symbols; eight of them were colored gold and silver, the gold standing for the horde's plunder and the silver representing the silver color of their blades. The ninth was blood red and larger then the others, symbolizing the ruthless power of the horde and their ability to kill.

A lone figure stood atop the rear deck of the massive _Sharkfin_. In comparison to others of his species, the creature was in proportion to the vessel he stood upon. A full head taller then other foxes, Groomyer the Ruthless was an imposing figure. His flat, dull fur set off his evil grey eyes. His scarlet tunic was belted about with an adder skin; into this was thrust his giant scimitar. A purple cloak trimmed with silver thread fluttered in the evening breeze. A thin band of gold crowned his brow.

Groomyer was watching the horizon expectantly. Twoscore days before he had sent out two of his fastest ships, the _Marlin_ and the _Firewake_, to plunder island villages. Between them the two ships had a total crew of sixscore vermin, all armed to the teeth and ready to kill and conquer. They were also to capture any vermin they came across. The ships had been sent out on several missions before this and they had always brought back more slaves, recruits, and booty for their ruthless leader.

As the sun set closer towards the horizon, Groomyer's sharp eyes saw two ships rounding the western cape of the harbor. His eyes flashed with evil pleasure. Soon he would see the trophies his hordebeasts had brought him.

A quarter of an hour later the ships had been anchored and fastened to one of the piers. Groomyer bounded up the gangplank of the _Firewake_, the larger of the two craft. The captain, a weasel named Grotton, saluted with his cutlass. The huge fox nodded to him. "Make your report, Captain."

Grotton stood to attention. "Yer honor, we captured eighteen new slaves ter serve ya. We also took over a crew of corsairs, numberin' twenty-one. Nothin' much in the way of plunder, just a few gold bracelets and gems. Ain't many creatures with valuables livin' on the islands hereabouts; we've picked 'em all off."

Groomyer eyed his captain. "Hmm, good point there, Grotton. I'll have to take that into consideration next time I send out a raiding party. In what condition are the new slaves?"

Grotton saluted again. "Taken some of the lash sire, and had the reduced rations, but otherwise in tiptop condition." He smiled evilly. "We slew one of the oarslaves in front of 'em fer effect."

Groomyer chuckled; the strong, beautiful, yet vile sound echoed across the ship. "Well done! That always gets to them and scares the wits out of them. Very good! Now, where are these little beauties?"

Grotton jerked his paw over his shoulder. "Down in the barred cabin. We'll bring 'em up for ya." He called over to a rat that was standing nearby. "Oi! Drakkug! Get five others an' haul those new slaves up ter the deck. His Majesty wants ter get a look at 'em."

The rat Drakkug saluted and hurried off. A few moments later the clinking of chains was heard. A line of woodlanders, all shackled by their right paw to a running chain, were marched up onto the deck. The rat Drakkug strode about behind them, snarling. "Down on yer knees, ya filthy scum! Bow before yer master." He struck a vole on the back with his spearbutt. The pitiful creature cringed, kneeling before the huge fox.

Groomyer paced back and forth in front of his new prisoners. His paw slowly went to the scimitar at his side. "Will you lot work hard to keep yourselves alive?"

The captives nodded vigorously.

"And will you obey my every word, knowing that I control your very lives?"

The poor creatures nodded in unison.

Groomyer smiled, displaying his evilly curved canines. "Good. For if you didn't, you would receive far worse then this." He suddenly lashed out a mouse that was chained near the end of the column. The creature screamed in pain, writhing on the deck as he nursed his torn face.

Groomyer turned to the other slaves. "Such is punishment for those who disobey me, your master!" He abruptly spun on his heel and stalked away. "Grotton, Drakkug, take these pitiful excuses for slaves down to the compound. I'm going to go have a visit with our new recruits to the ranks."

The twenty-one new vermin were sitting in a cabin on the _Marlin_, the other newly-returned ship. Groomyer entered the cabin accompanied by Wavefang, a searat who had been granted the duty of Captain. At their entrance several of the vermin snarled; then they quailed at the sight of Groomyer placing a paw on his sword hilt.

The huge fox smiled disarmingly. "Why, hello my friends. You must be the poor creatures who were rescued from a sinking wreck a few days back. What are you going to do now that you've lost your ship?"

A ferret muttered, "'Ow should we know? We were captured by dat rat nex' ter yer; aye, he an' 'is crew. They jumped on us an' hauled us aboard dis great hulk. Den dey scuttled our luvey _Mastmud_ an' locked us in dis rotten place."

Turning to his captain, Groomyer put on a face of mock horror. "You did no such thing, did you, Wavefang?"

Wavefang knew his role. He knelt before Groomyer, convincingly pretending fear. "Oh, Sire, please, spare me! We did do all 'ee mentioned, but we treated 'em well, as they're t' be yer newest recruits. I'll make sure they all git well fed an' a bed of their own if'n ya spare me. Please, Sire!"

Groomyer, who had drawn his scimitar and raised it above his head, seemed to pause for a moment. Then he slowly lowered his weapon. "If you do all you said, I'll let you live. Now go!"

††

Gareth watched as the new slaves were marched through the village square. Many of the hordebeasts, including several of the new recruits, lined the path to the compound. They threw clumps of wet sand, stones, shells, and sticks at the captives; some vermin even tried to trip them with sticks and spearbutts.

The young fox sighed as he saw an otter's cheek open from a sharp shell; he would have to bring some herbs to the slave compound tonight. He had been visiting the slaves almost every night since that first visit. Watton would be expecting him.

He shifted his position on the _Malstrom's_ rail; the smallest ship in the fleet, this little three-masted vessel provided an excellent view of the square. It was Gareth's favorite of the ships, and he often went there to get away from the horde and his father.

Then he noticed something. Off to one side, in the deep shadow of a hut that was cast by the sun's last rays, stood one of the new hordebeasts. Instead of trying to torment the slaves, the creature stood shaking its head sadly. As the torturing continued, the creature seemed to lose control of itself; it covered its face with its paws, stumbling away to vanish in one of the many paths that ran through the village.

Gareth narrowed his eyes, thinking about what he had just seen.

"Hmmm . . ."

_

* * *

_

Okay, sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter. I've been trying to get through the required reading books for school this year, and it's like trying to drag an unconscious badger through a swamp. To make things worse, by the time I finish these books school will be starting, and then chapter production will really slow down. You all probably know what that's like, though.

_By the way, at least two people have asked me in their reviews about the black squirrel from Legend of Luke. Please STOP asking me about her! You'll give away the storyline for that book to those who haven't read it! Sorry if I sounded aggressive, I just know what it feels like to have a story given away. Actually, the only thing I ask of you is to word your reviews carefully. PLEASE!_

_Thanks a million!_


	12. The Talk on the Walltop

11: The Talk on the Walltop

_11: The Talk on the Walltop_

Tam's mind was racing as he and Armel met on the stairs leading from Great Hall into Cavern Hole. Why had Lin left the feast? Where had she gone? And most importantly, where was she now? These question and more charged about in his head as he looked at Armel. "Anything?"

His wife shook her head. "Nothing I thought worthy of notice. There's one thing bothering me though; I saw Lin's face as she left the stage, and she didn't look as if she was drinking in the applause. I believe that song called to mind one too many bad memories for her. I was thinking that perhaps she went out to the gardens, or up to the wall. It's a little early in the season to be outside at night, but it's possible."

Tam nodded. "Come to think of it, I did see something odd at the back kitchen door. Ye know, the one that's used for easy access to the storerooms during the autumn harvesting. The wooden bar that normally holds it closed was leaning against the woodpile. It didn't attract my attention at first, but your comment jogged my memory."

Without a word the couple hastened to the door. The bar was indeed leaning against the woodpile at the end of the passage, looking as if it belonged there. The door was only open a crack, but enough to show that somebeast had passed through it in the past few minutes.

Tam slid it open and looked out. Nobeast was in sight. He motioned to Armel outside. out on the lawn everything was still and quiet. The full moon bathed the whole abbey in its solemn brilliance.

Armel glanced round. "I don't see her anywhere about. Perhaps she went to the other side of –"

"Hush," Tam said quietly, pointing to the southwest corner of the walls.

A shadowy figure stood silhouetted on the ramparts. The black fur of the creature seemed to be alive in the moonlight, reflecting the pale whiteness. The simple sandy-brown garb seemed to blend into the sandstone wall, making the creature look as if it had stood there since the beginning of time.

The two MacBurls glided silently across the lawn and up the wallsteps toward the silhouetted figure. Lin surprised them by speaking to them without even turning her head, even though they were still a good ten paces away. "Tis a night for thoughts, isn't it?"

Armel stifled a gasp. "Aye, it is, but how could you tell we were coming?"

Lin smiled somewhat proudly. "I've been getting better at my hearing ever since you had me confined to the infirmary. I learned there how to tell where a beast was in the passage and, with several individual creatures, who it was that was approaching. I've just gotten better since then. I beg your pardon if it sounds like boasting."

Tam leaned against the wall in a casual way. "No, it doesn't in the least. Excuse my asking, but what brings ye up here at this hour, miss?"

Lin's face stiffened. Clearly, Tam had touched a delicate subject. She turned to face the southwest. "That song – it reminded me so much of my family. I feel closer to them up here; we would often sit on the beach after sunset and the breeze would always be blowing. Jome and I – " Here she faltered. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Armel placed a comforting paw on her back. "Someday you'll be living those moments out again if you are faithful and persevere towards humility and pureness of heart. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

Lin bowed her head. Several more tears rolled down her face. Armel and Tam patted her back comfortingly. For a moment the three stood there like a father and mother comforting their distraught daughter.

Finally Lin raised her head, her eyes dry. "Thank you. Both of you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you two."

Tam drummed his paw on the walltop awkwardly. "Er, well – it was an honor, although we didn't know it at the time. When you set out on your quest, ye'll have Doogy and me to guide ye."

Lin slewed round. "And what makes you say that?"

Tam bowed. "'Twill be a long explanation. The first night ye were here I had a dream of Martin the Warrior. He showed me a great battle, and then spoke one verse to me. Not a poem, necessarily, but still a riddle. His very words were, 'Ye must be there, Warrior; ye must raise your sword against the enemy, and your life-friend must do as well. I place the black diamond in your care.' I didn't understand him at the time. Now I do. Your fur is black, and ye wear a bracelet set with diamonds; ye're the black diamond. Doogy and I are friends for life; my life-friend. I suppose the bit about raising my sword against the enemy will travel its course, but here's my point; Martin placed ye in my care, and that includes journeys and quests. Doogy and I are going with ye, whether ye like it or not!"

Lin and Armel had been staring at Tam open-mouthed. Armel was the first to break the silence. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Tam shrugged. "Martin didn't want it made known until it was necessary. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did."

Lin looked out to the southwest again. "So, I suppose the next step will be to unscramble that riddle we found. I haven't thought out any answers yet, but I think those strange-sounding words like 'stew' and 'will holloh' have had the letters mixed up. D'you think that's possible?"

Armel and Tam looked at each other. Armel nodded. "Aye, many riddles found at Redwall have words that are jumbled up. I've never read one personally, but Melanda has seen several in the old recordings in the gatehouse. I'll talk to her about it."

"Tam, what are you doing?"

The warrior spun round at Lin's question. "I was thinking about the word 'tub' in the seventh line of that riddle. Armel, remember last summer, when several of the dibbuns insisted that Burlop Cellerhog make them little boats out of barrels? I remember laughing at the sight of them, paddling about on the pond, each in his own little tub. D'ye see the connection?"

Lin nodded, her face brightening. "Aye, I think you're right! But why do we have to go north before we set out?"

Armel glanced up the northern path. "Perhaps the direction you'll have to sail in doesn't line up with the Mossflower coast. Thus, you must travel north to line yourself up with your destination. I'm puzzled as to the saying 'gaping mouths,' though. What in the name of seasons does that mean?"

Lin, who had been thinking hard for the last few moments, suddenly exclaimed. "I've got it! I've got it!"

Tam grinned at her eagerness. "Got what, Lin?"

Lin clapped her paws. "I know what the word 'sile' means! Switch the placement of the 's' and 'i' and you have isle, which must be Tarenta!"

"How do you know that? It might be Volkendo, the island to the north of Tarenta."

"Armel's right, Lin. As no explorer seems to have been to Tarenta, the riddle could very likely mean Volkendo. Melanda told me once of a writing about a mouse traveling to an island with a dead volcano in its center. I'll mention it to her. Ha, looks as if Melanda has her work cut out for the morrow."

Lin drummed her paws on the walltop fretfully. "Well, if the isle the riddle mentions is Volkendo, I'll have to set out on my journey as soon as I can."

Armel, ever the rock of good sense, placed a firm paw on the squirrelmaid's shoulder. "You're not going anywhere until we unravel this puzzle. Also, it's too early on in the season for anybeast to be traveling. At least wait until mid-spring."

"Mid-spring!" Lin fumed. "That's too long! A fortnight; that's the longest I will wait."

Tam shook his head sternly. "Ye'll wait until mid-spring. Ye've never seen a spring at Redwall; Armel and I have. Early spring here is unpredictable; sometimes it's cold for the first half of the season, and sometimes it's beautiful, warm, and sunny all spring. We're just giving ye advice, but we do know what we're talking about.

"Also, if ye're going to be heading north, then it'll get colder the farther ye go. I come from the Northland border, and I've experienced the early spring there. It's usually still snowing this early on in the season, and it'll only really be spring there when it's about mid-spring her at Redwall. Something to keep in mind when ye do start your journey."

It took a great deal of urging, but the two MacBurls finally got Lin to agree not to leave until mid-spring. When she finally consented, Armel sighed gratefully. "I'm glad you changed your mind, Lin; not only because of the earliness of the season, but because – well – because I won't be seeing either you or Tam for at least a season. When you leave I'll miss you. Both of you."

Lin looked into the infirmary keeper's soft brown eyes. "I'll miss you too. You, Tam, and Melanda have been like family to me over this past winter, and it filled a gap that I thought would remain empty forever."

Tam looked at Armel. Then he turned to Lin. "Will ye wait here for a moment? I'd like to discuss something with Armel."

Lin curtsied. "Of course."

Tam and Armel moved a few paces down the south wall, whispering. Lin turned to face the southwest. How she wished she knew what was brewing at Tarenta at this moment!

After a few moments of deep conversation, Tam and Armel walked back to the south wall. Tam stood shifting his weight awkwardly from footpaw to footpaw, muttering to himself. "I don't really know how to open up this topic, Lin, so ye'll have to pardon my abruptness. Armel and I have been talking this matter over for the last fortnight. Like ye said, my family and I have made ye feel as if ye were one of us. Armel and I just decided that, with your consent, we'll make it official. Lin, will ye be our adopted daughter?"

Lin jumped and stared. The proposal caught her completely off guard. She pulled herself together, summoning her answer. It saddened her, but she knew that it was the truth. "I'm sorry Tam, but I can't rest until each and every member of my family, no matter how distantly related, is set free. I couldn't bear to have my immediate family, or at least part of it, living free and happy with the remainder of my kin suffering. I wish I didn't have to say that, but until Groomyer is put paid to, I will not change my mind."

Armel was startled at the anger in Lin's last sentence. "Lin, I know what you feel towards Groomyer, but vengeance is an evil thing. If that is all you are fighting for, than your risk is senseless. If you are fighting to free your tribe, that's a different matter. But if your primary goal is to slay Groomyer to even the score for your parents' deaths, then you'd be better off at Redwall."

Lin shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no, I'm not fighting for vengeance. My brother Jome, my friends, and my tribe are under the heel of Groomyer, who is an oppressive tyrant. My goal is to free them and take back my homeland, which was stolen from me and my tribe. I do not fight for vengeance, but for justice. I never did, nor ever will, make a vow to slay Groomyer because he slew my family. I think he should die because he is cruel, evil, and slays innocent creatures just for the fun of it. That is the reason I will set out to do battle with him, and his horde. For justice."

Tam bowed gallantly. "Well spoken, my lady. The words of a warrior, not a killer. Ye have yet to experience a battle with a weapon in your paw, but you speak as if ye have been in many battles and have the knowledge of a great scholar."

Armel broke the solemnity of the moment. "Tis getting chilly up here on the wall. Why don't we go back to Great Hall? There should still be a good deal of food left, if we can beat the DeMaynes to it."

All three chuckled. The three Salamandastron hares were well known for their appetites. Friar Glisum had said not too long ago that he'd 'like to stew those hares and serve them up to a regiment so as to give them the food's perspective!' "

As the three squirrels strolled across the abbey lawns under the huge silver moon, Lin couldn't help breaking into song.

"The moon shines brightly upon the hill  
Its light dancing upon the river.  
A broad beam of light settles on me  
As I sing my praise to the moon.

Hark! The lady of the night,  
Garbed in her silver gown.  
Her crown of stars twinkle like diamonds  
As she smiles down on us all.

The wind stills at her touch,  
Her beauty calms the waves.  
Trees bend before her gaze,  
As she guards sleepers at rest.

Hark! The lady of the night,  
Garbed in her silver gown.  
Her crown of stars twinkle like diamonds  
As she smiles down on us all.

Her light reflects on the sea,  
To give her a mirror so vast,  
That only the one who stands next to the sun  
Can be granted a gift so great.

Hark! The lady of the night,  
Garbed in her silver gown.  
Her crown of stars twinkle like diamonds  
As she smiles down on us all.

_

* * *

_

I hope you liked that chapter. I know the song at the end didn't really rhyme, but it has a nice rythm to it that I thougut made up for that. the same drill as usuall, wot! R&R!


	13. Questions Asked, Questions Answered

Book Two: Travels

_**Book Two: Travels**_

_12: Questions Asked, Questions Answered_

Clash! Bang! Smash! Clang!

Two swords flashed in the light of the afternoon sun. Tam stood holding the sword of Martin, parrying the blows of the claymore that Lin was wielding. A fortnight had passed since that talk on the walltop, and every day of those two weeks Lin had spent training hard in the ways of war, being instructed by Tam and Doogy. Skipper and Ferdimond DeMayne often assisted them in the schooling of the use of spears, javelins, slings, and archery equipment. Lin spent well over three hours every day throwing, sparring, and shooting at targets. Her muscles became strong and firm, although to the eye nothing changed in her appearance.

Tam easily blocked a diagonal chop from Lin's sword. The squirrelmaid, using a technique Doogy had taught her, whipped her blade upward along Tam's right side, slicing sideways at neck level. With the aid of his natural ability Tam dodged the blows, using the flat of his blade to send the squirrelmaid's sword humming through the air. He thrust his sword forward, aiming at Lin's throat. She leaned backward, allowing her now empty paws to support her as she dropped to the ground. Rolling onto her side, she jumped at Tam's outstretched right paw, the one that held the sword. He blocked her with his left arm, angling his sword so that it slashed downward at Lin's footpaws. She leaped into the air to avoid the blow. Landing on Tam's opposite side, she went for his throat, only to find herself flat on her back with Tam's sword point tickling her throat.

The warrior grinned. "Ye almost had me there, Lin. Ye need to work on your forward roll; ye could have used it there. Ye also still attack too directly; ye need to catch your opponent off guard. Remember, if'n ye've lost your weapon, ye can fight with your body. My good friend Sergeant Wonwill at Salamandastron is a boxing hare, and I've seen him fight. He uses all four paws, his head, and his body to defeat his enemy, and I've never seen him loose. If'n ye used your teeth and claws, ye'd be almost impossible to defeat. I can tell ye that much."

Lin stood up, flexing her paws. "Aye, Skipper's got the boxing and wrestling techniques drilled into me very well, although I'll never use them unless I have to. I'm perfectly comfortable with the skill, but it just doesn't seen fair to my rival. Ferdimond says that he thinks that I could beat the best wrestler at Salamandastron, although I don't quite believe him, the old scoffbag!" She gave an kindly chuckle. Everybeast at Redwall was fond of the food-loving hare and his family.

Doogy came marching over, playfully berating Lin. "I hope ye've no nicked me bonny claymore, lassie. 'Cause if'n ye have, ye and I'll have tae have a wee duel, so we will. Tam, Armel want's tae know if'n ye and Lin'll come up tae the infirmary tae get a start on that riddle."

Lin picked up the claymore and handed it to Doogy. "I'll come with pleasure, if'n Tam agrees. I believe we were going to head over to the orchard for some archery practice. Sir?"

Tam nodded gravely. "Aye, we can call it a day. Actually, Lin, I'm thinking about stopping these lessons altogether. Ye're a natural when it comes to weapons. What d'ye think, Doogy?"

The stout squirrel agreed whole-heartedly as they set out for the infirmary. "Aye, Tam, ye're right there. I'd say that we give the lassie one more day of exercises, and if she does well, then we'll give her a rest. I think she could beat me at sword fighting!"

Lin snorted. "I don't think so. Actually, if'n I am going to carry a special weapon, I don't think it'll be like any here at Redwall. I've practiced with swords, spears, javelins, slings, bows, clubs, daggers, dirks, and staves, but, although I can wield them all well, none of them seen quite right."

Tam shrugged. "Many warriors have a chosen weapon. Actually, it might not be a blade with a name to its type, but a unique thing in its own right. Martin's sword is something like that, in a way." He raised the magnificent sword. Light flashed from the polished metal like a thousand diamond shafts shot form the same bow. The warrior's two companions blinked in the blinding light.

"Ahoy you chaps, will ye stop tryin' to jolly well blind a beast and hurry up here, wot? Armel's about ready to get started without you bloomin' blighters!"

Doogy grinned at Kersey's tone. "Sounds like we'd better be pushin' holes intae the rocks. We're wanted badly!"

††

A short time later, Tam, Armel, Doogy, Lin, Melanda, Brooky, Kersey, and Sister Mimsie were all perched in various places in the infirmary. Armel had the riddle stone in her lap. She opened the discussion. "Before we get started, has anybeast figured out any angle of this riddle?"

Tam and Lin contributed their bits of information. Then Sister Mimsie spoke up. "My contribution is small, but it is something. The lake of salt mentioned is the sea; there's no doubt about that. Tarenta and Volkendo are islands, correct? Well, you'll need to cross the sea to reach them."

Armel smiled at her young assistant. "Thank you, Mimsie. No matter how small, every contribution helps, and that is a large one." She turned to the others. "Does anybeast else have anything?"

Melanda raised her paw as if she was at abbeyschool. "I don't have an answer that deals with the riddle directly, but I did find something else interesting." She indicated a large volume in her lap. "This is a copy of a writing by Abbess Germaine, Redwall's first Abbess and co-founder of our abbey alongside Martin the Warrior. The original tome crumbled away countless seasons ago, but somebeast copied it down before then. Here's the bit that I thought might be of interest to us." She opened the large book to a page marked by a thin silken ribbon. Then she read aloud.

††

_Extract from the writings of Abbess Germaine, Mother of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country._

'Tis a happy day here at Redwall Abbey. Martin the Warrior has just returned from his quest to learn about his father, Luke the Warrior. Although 'tis not a happy tale, 'tis one of complete selflessness. Here is the story. (Here, Melanda thumbed forward a few pages. Then she commenced with her reading.)

Several weeks passed without any sighting of land. Then the tip of a mountain was seen on the horizon. A few hours later, the entire island was visible. It was rather large, with gently sloping shores for several miles inland that gave way to a cone-shaped mountain. Martin tells me that this mountain was a volcano. There were trees aplenty growing there; most, according to witnesses, had spear-shaped leaves. Purple and scarlet flowers are said to have decorated the lowlands. Although it is not proven fact, one of the crew members said to a mouse named Vurg that he saw a harbor on the island's southern coast as they sailed away.

††

Melanda closed the book and looked at Lin. "Well, does that description fit Volkendo?"

Lin nodded eagerly. "Aye, down to the harbor on the southern coast. Actually, the large harbor is on the eastern coast, but there's a smaller one on the southern shore that's sometimes used to unload ships with unwieldy cargo. there are many scarlet and purple flowers growing on the lower slopes of the volcano, and in the open fields too. There aren't many trees there anymore, due to the building of ships and houses, but multiple groves still stand throughout the island. Most of them are handsome specimens with arrow-shaped leaves."

Melanda smiled. "The island seemed to closely match your description of Volkendo, so I thought I'd read that excerpt. There's no mention of an island resembling your account of Tarenta, however; this is the only voyage to any islands in that area that is referred to in any recording here at Redwall. I'm sorry."

Lin shrugged and smiled. "Don't be. I've been to Volkendo several times, and I know how to reach Tarenta from there. Once I get to Volkendo, I can find my way easily."

"What about before then?"

Everybeast turned to face Sister Mimsie. She continued her statement calmly. "Before you start jumping to conclusions, let's try to figure out what these odd-sounding words mean. Where shall we start?"

Brooky startled everybeast present by suddenly breaking out into laughter. "Woohahahahahahoohoo! Sorry, Sister, but you're just as solemn as a frog at a funeral. Couldn't you brighten up a bit? Wahahahahahahaha!"

Kersey couldn't resist a smile. "Well, at least you're not under the weather today, Brooky, wot wot! Now, I say we start with this bloomin' 'will holloh' thing. There's something that sounds fishy about it, wot!"

Tam agreed to this suggestion readily. "Aye, we'll start with that. Thankee, Kersey."

The haremum beamed with pleasure. "'Twas nothin' Tam. wot wot!"

Long minutes passed as the eight Redwallers toyed with the strange sounding words. Melanda had brought parchment and charcoal pencils to aid them in the solving of the riddle, and these were now put to good use. For some time, the only sound in the infirmary was the scratching noise of pencils on paper.

Then Doogy looked up. "Here, Tam, what d'ye think o' this for an answer?"

Tam bent over his friend's parchment. "Hollow hill? It certainly sounds possible. How did ye find that?"

Doogy explained. "'Twas simple really. All I did was flip the first and last letters, so that the last 'h' and the 'w' took each other's places, and there ye have it!"

Brooky again burst out into laughter. "Hahahahahahahahoohoo! Who would have thought it? Old Doogy's turned scholar. Woohoohahahahahahaha!"

Doogy huffed at the otter. "Well, ye're off no better, marm. 'Tis a surprise tae me that ye'd say such a thing when ye're sitin' there with a –"

Mimsie interrupted the pending argument. "So, where and what is this hollow hill? Sounds like a cavern of sorts, but I've never heard of a cave around here."

Armel turned to Kersey. "What in the name of seasons are you smiling about? I don't see anything funny."

Kersey, still smiling ear to ear, crowed, "I know wot the jolly old hollow hill is!"

Several voices all exclaimed at once, "Tell us!"

Kersey sat with a huge grin plastered on her face, refusing to say a word. Several of the others tried to get her to explain, but it was Armel who finally won her over. "Kersey, if'n you'll tell us what the hollow hill is, I'll have Friar Glisum make a whole blueberry pie just for you. Now will you please explain this hill business?"

Kersey beamed with delight. "A whole blueberry pie you say, wot? Of course I'll bally well explain! The hollow hill is jolly old Salamandastron. That blinkin' mountain is such a honeycomb of passages, chambers, halls, and caverns that it might jolly well be called hollow. Wot wot!"

Tam clapped the hare heartily on the back. "Well thought out Kersey, very well done! Sounds like we'll have to drop by to pay our respects to Lady Melesme when we set out, eh Doogy?"

Lin looked up. "In what direction does Salamandastron lay from here?"

Melanda looked puzzled. "I'd say roughly southwest. Why?"

Lin's eyes lit up excitedly. "That must be it! Shout and stew have got to mean south and west! Although I have to admit, I can't see any connection between them. what in the name of acorns does stew have to do with traveling southwest?"

Brooky hooted with laughter. "Hahahahahahahahahaheehee! You don't see the connection, mate? Woohoohahahahahahaha!"

Lin faced the otter, paws akimbo. "I thankee for the positive remark, marm. Now, will you please explain what you meant by it?"

Brooky attenpted to stifle her laughter. "Hahahaha – erm – ahem. West and stew have the same letters, don't you see? A 'w,' an 'e,' a 's,' and a 't.' It just depends on the order you put 'em in. the same thing goes for shout and south. Give 'em a twist here and there, an' you have the other. Beg pardon; whahahahahahahaha!"

The other seven looked at each other. Sister Mimsie murmured softly, "So the only thing left to unravel is that bit about gaping mouths. I can't seem to understand any aspect of that phrase, I have to say. Does anybeast have anything to enlighten that subject?"

Doogy shook his head. "I think it's something that'll have tae be figured oot during the journey."

Tam turned to Armel. "With the changes that we've made, how does the riddle go?"

Armel read it off.

"If you are to reach home you will sally forth,  
Heading southwest from these great gates,  
And when you reach Salamandastron you would go north,  
Until a fortnight lay of late.  
When you see the gaping mouths you halt,  
To find a ship sturdy and strong.  
In this you set out over the sea;  
Head southwest and ere long;  
You will see the point of an isle,  
Spread out under the sun.  
You step onto the sand, having traveled many a mile,  
And now your journey is done."

As the squirrelmum finished reading the poem, the eight creatures realized that the sun had set. a murmur of chatter could be heard from Cavern Hole, accompanied by the occasional clink of the knife on plate and spoon on bowl.

Tam grinned. "Well, we finished that just in time for supper. Armel, will ye put that stone on the mantle? If'n we need it some other time, we can fetch it easily. Right. Now, down to supper, mates!"

As the group marched off down the stairs, Lin fingered her bracelet. She had always felt some connection to it, as if this was a part of her. She looked at it, remembering the moment when her mother hat thrust it into her paw. She clenched her fist.

The journey was about to begin!

_

* * *

_

Well, what do you think? I know the riddle didn't even come close to Brian Jacques', but it was the best I could do at the time.

_All right, this is something I've wanted to do for some time. Ages of the characters! The story is supposed to start about three seasons after the epilogue in Rakkety Tam. (For those who don't remember, that was written fifteen seasons after the close of the actual story. In The Savage Stranger, I do make reference to it being nineteen seasons since Armel gave Doogy the claymore). _

_I count a season at Redwall as a year in our time, so think of it that way._

_I don't know the exact ages of the characters from Rakkety Tam during that story, so I'm estimating theirs._

_At this point in the story, here are some of the characters' ages:_

_Lin 17_

_Tam 38 – 40_

_Armel 36 – 38_

_Melanda 18 – 20_

_Doogy 38 – 40 _

_Mimsie 24 – 25_

_Groomyer 35 – 37_

_Gareth 19 – 20_

_I don't know why I put Mimsie in there, but I think she's going to be a larger character later then I'm portraying her right now._

_Now, I know you've done it a hundred times (at least, I hope you have), but please R&R! Thanks!_


	14. A Tyrant's Heart

13: A Tyrant's Heart

_13: A Tyrant's Heart_

Groomyer paced restlessly about the open floor, his paw resting on his scimitar hilt. The room he occupied was one of two on the first floor of the late chieftain's house. This was the largest dwelling in the village, having a total of four rooms instead of the usual three. This particular chamber contained the entryway, a large adobe fireplace in the corner, a wooden table with several stools, two long benches with low backs, and the large hide-covered chair that served as a throne for the Ruthless one. The other first-floor room was furnished with a large bed, a brass-bound chest containing a number of odds and ends, a mirror, and a wooden rocking chair.

The second floor was reached by a steep set of wooden stairs in the entry room. One upstairs chamber was a storeroom, and the other a second bedroom. This was where Gareth slept. It had a set of bunks built against one wall, two single beds on opposite sides of the room, a fireplace in the corner built into the same chimney as the first, and two small chests containing random articles. The whole thing was topped by a thick layer of straw thatch. In fact, the second floor was really the roof space, each room having a window at either end that slanted with the roof. It was a cozy dwelling on the whole, Groomyer and Gareth being its sole occupants.

The huge grey fox let out a low growl. He was in a foul mood. One of his superior captains, a ferret named Harvaz, had gone out with a score of hordebeasts and eight slaves on a foraging trip ten days before. Nothing had been seen of them since. Groomyer had six of his best trackers out hunting for them, but so far they had yielded nothing. It was absurd to think that they had gotten lost on an island this size; all they had to do was follow the slope of the land until they reached the sea, and then head north until they came to the village. In fact, Harvaz had led at least six foraging parties before, and had never been gone more than five days.

Groomyer dug his claws into the tabletop. This was the fourth party to vanish while out on some expedition in the woods. Each time all traces of the hordebeasts and slaves vanished at some point. There was never any blood on the ground to indicate a fight nor scuffed ground to show that there had been a scuffle. Only pawprints that vanished suddenly and never reappeared.

Pawsteps approached the house. Groomyer turned to see his head tracker, Zadi, standing in the doorway. The weasel, who had sandy fur mottled with brown and white, bowed low. "Master!"

Groomyer had a hint of a snarl in his voice as he addressed her. "What is your news, scout?"

Zadi cringed, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Mighty One, there are no signs of anybeast past the rowan grove where the tracks were last seen. They have vanished in the same way the others did."

Groomyer growled dangerously at her. "And what makes you think that they will not be found?"

Zadi gulped. "Sire, Harvaz was a good leader. If they were lost, he would have lead them to the beach. From there they could have traveled nor–"

"I know they could have traveled north!" Groomyer roared, causing the weasel to skip back a few paces. "I want to know why you think they will not be found!" He suddenly lowered his tone to a dangerous growl. "You are hiding something from me." It was not a question.

Zadi quavered. Her voice faltered. "Sire, this was found hanging on the branch of a dead oak. There was a single hole in the center, as if it had been made purposely. See for yourself." She handed Groomyer an amulet shaped like a crescent moon hanging from a thin chain. It was unmarred, except for a jagged hole in the exact center. The huge fox looked at is suspiciously. "What evidence is this?"

Zadi explained. "This was Harvaz's, Sire. I saw him wearing it when he left the village. A rat called Fregle who knew him well says that Harvaz would never part with it. Fregle thinks that Harvaz considered it a good-luck charm. That is all, Sire."

Groomyer paced back and forth, turning the information the scout had given him over and over in his mind. Of a sudden he whirled on Zadi, his claws sinking into her flesh as he grabbed her by the shoulders. The weasel gasped with pain as the fox growled, "Call back the trackers. Harvaz and his party will not be found; at least, according to your reports. But let this happen just once more, Zadi, and I'll make you scream for half a season before you die." He released her with a contemptuious shove, causing her to stumble against the wall. "Go, and give my orders to the others."

Zadi scrambled outside on all fours, gasping out, "Yes, Sire, your orders shall be carried out. I promise!" She vanished from the fox's sight.

Groomyer watched her go with disgust. For several moments after the weasel left, the huge fox stood glaring out the still-open door. On an impulse he swept outside.

††

Groomyer found his son busily chopping wood. The huge fox sat down near the chopping block. He leaned back and closed his eyes, remarking in an offpaw manner, "I'm surprised you don't have the slaves doing that."

Gareth glanced sideways at his father as he hefted another log. "All the slaves are busy felling trees, working the plough, fishing the harbor, and preparing the construction of your fortress, Sire. It irks me when a job is left undone and there were only a few logs left, so I found a hatchet and went to work. I've been swinging for less then five minutes, Father; there's only a few logs left to chop. Besides, 'tis good exercise."

Groomyer slid his claw over the hilt of his sword. It was his prized possession, the lethally curved blade being made of highly polished steel. The hilt was strong and simple, the crosstrees having no adornment except for the tips, which were shaped like scrolls. The grip was bound tightly by tough red linen, which was reinforced by bronze wire. The pommel stone was a red ruby, set in a bronze casing. It was a fearsome weapon, and Groomyer had put it to use scores of times in the past seasons, and it always did its task.

The huge fox smiled at his son, fangs glittering in the sunlight. "And how goes the construction of my fortress? At the last report, the plans were being drawn up as to the location and foundations."

Gareth rested on the chopping block. He wiped sweat from his eyes as he replied, "There's an ideal spot near the peak of one of the hills, but it's right on top of a rough patch; it'll take quite a lot of beasts to clear it."

Groomyer turned to face his son. "How far away is this place?"

Gareth squinted at the sun. "I'd say just over a day's good traveling."

Groomyer stood up. "Come Gareth, I want you to show me this place on that map we found in the cupboard. Leave that wood for one of the slaves."

As the two made their way back to their dwelling, Groomyer looked at his son approvingly. In the Ruthless One's eyes, Gareth was a cunning, quick, I'm-ready-to-fight hordebeast who happened to be the horde leader's son. Groomyer had trained Gareth well in the ways of killing and torture. If someday another village offered itself for enslavement, the huge fox had no doubt that his son would be at his side, dealing death and destruction to all that opposed him.

Little did he know what lay ahead.

_

* * *

_

Thank you Jade TeaLeaf for the idea for that chapter! I'm not running out of ideas for vermin-centered chapters, but that one had completely run away from me.

_Kinda a short chapter, but I couldn't think of any more to put in without doing some perspective-switching, which I'm trying to avoid (and not having much success, I think! Correct me if I'm wrong there.)_

_Teeeenshion! Form ranks, stand to attention, aaaand march! Hut two, hut two, hut two, R&R!_

_Hee hee._

_P.S. if you're having trouble with poetry, take a peek at my bio. I've put up some hints on there that might be of some service._


	15. To the Mountain

14: To the Mountain

_14: To the Mountain_

Lin trotted across the Abbey lawn carrying three empty haversacks. She and Armel were busy piecing together the traveling kits for herself, Tam, and Doogy, and the squirrelmum had requested the squirrelmaid to bring her three haversacks from a cupboard in the Gatehouse. Lin was in high excitement, for the three were planning to leave the next day, as it was nearing mid-spring.

Lin dumped the haversacks down on the infirmary table cheerfully. She called over to Armel, who was busy sorting through a pile of traveling garments. "Have you found that cloak you're looking for, marm?"

Armel paused in her work for a moment to reply. "No, but I've found several other things that might be of service. Here, try that on." She motioned to a tunic of soft brown linen that was lying on a bed.

Lin slipped it over her head, letting it settle against her dress. It fit perfectly. The material had been worn smooth by long seasons of hard service, but it was still very sturdy and could take plenty of rough traveling without damage. The sleeves came halfway down her upper arm, and the hem reached midway to her knees. The collar settled comfortably against her collarbone.

Armel smiled. "It looks as if it was made for you, Lin. Ah, here it is. Let's see if this will fit you."

She picked up a simple traveling cloak of sage green. It was fitted with a hood, and was long enough that it would pass Lin's knees. On closer inspection, however, the squirrelmaid noticed cleverly tucked pleats about the shoulders. These were arranged so that they could be easily let down to form a blanket. Tiny hook and eye clasps allowed for quick and easy re-tucking.

Armel rubbed the cloak thoughtfully. "Can you feel that? There were many herbs used in the making of this."

Lin ran her paw over one of the pleats. "What? Do you mean that silky feeling?"

Armel nodded. "Aye. Sometimes, the thread that is used to make cloaks is first soaked in a mixture of boiled herbs. The result is softer cloth and a waterproof effect. This cloak will never let a drop of water on the beast wearing it. 'Tis as repellent as a roof."

Lin allowed the thing to drape over her shoulders. It felt quite light, despite the volume of fabric. The throat clasp was simple, made of leather, and very strong. With her paw, Lin traced the smooth seams of a pocket on the left side. A hood was sewn on just above the pleats, ensuring complete dryness to the wearer.

Armel looked at the young squirrelmaid approvingly. "I think that the tunic and cloak suit you perfectly, Lin. You look like a warrior set for adventure!"

Lin shook her head sadly. "I don't feel like one. I don't have a weapon at my side, for one thing. And I'm a maid. Why should I wear a tunic? 'Tis against Tarentian tradition. A beast should be able to distinguish males from females."

Armel patted her back understandingly. "I know what you mean, Lin, but you will be traveling through all kinds of terrain and perils, and a tunic'll give you more flexibility and help keep you inconspicuous to an attacker."

Unexpectedly, Lin hugged the squirrelmum. "Thank you, Armel. You've been so kind to me, it will be painful to leave."

Armel squeezed her young friend's paw. "The same for me. But we'll all meet again someday, either in this life or the next. It doesn't matter where, but goodbeasts are never separated for long."

Lin blinked, thinking of her family. Her parents. Her sister. And especially, Jome. Where was he now? Hiding in the Tarentian woods? In Groomyer's slave compound? Or – she hardly dared think it – in the Dark Forest?

She was roused from her forebodings by Armel. The good squirrelmum had started packing the haversacks. She was thinking aloud, going over the items that would be needed. "Three days' worth of food, a water flask, flint and tinder – ah! Lin! Please put that cloak in your haversack. You can put the tunic on tomorrow, so there's no need to put it in."

††

Bong! Boom! Bong! Clang! Bong! Boom! Bong! Clang!

The Matthias and Methuselah bells rang out over Mossflower. A crowd of Redwallers had gathered to bid farewell to Lin Tam, and Doogy. The three squirrels had their haversacks slung over their shoulders, and each carried a weapon. Lin, wearing her brown tunic, carried Doogy's dirk at her side; he had lent it to her until she found her weapon. The Highlander himself had his claymore and trusty Sgian Dhu, a tiny dagger that many Northlanders carried, tucked into his belt.

It was Tam's weapon that attracted the most eyes, however. The warrior squirrel had the Sword of Martin thrust into his belt. It caught the sunlight and reflected beams of radiance across the Abbey, illuminating the faces of the Redwallers as Tam walked composedly by them.

Abbot Humble stood by the main gate. The ancient hedgehog bowed to the three warriors as they approached him. Tam returned the formality. "Father Abbot!"

Humble folded his paws and addressed them. "You three go on a quest to free innocent creatures from a tyrannical rule. Each of you carry in your paws and hearts great power; your blades, your determination, your strength. Use that power justly, my friends, but be warned! Do not misuse your power. For if you do, you will bring destruction to many goodbeasts. Who will speak for you?"

Lin stepped forward. her voice rang clear and strong through the morning air. "I vow that not one of our number will abuse our power using our blades, determination, or strength. We travel to bring justice to a land that is abused and mistreated by a cruel and evil ruler." She turned to face the abbeydwellers. "Will Redwall pledge its support to our mission?"

The Redwallers roared as one, "We pledge our arms, our food, and our care to any and everybeast who asks for our aid!"

Lin turned back to the Abbot. "Your followers have agreed with you. We march for a just cause. We salute every creature that lives within these walls. Our hearts stay here in the peace of these four walls, just as we ourselves march to face what will come to us."

The three squirrels drew their weapons, crossing the blades across each other as Abbot Humble placed his paws on the tools of war. Humble spoke calmly, his voice strong for one of his seasons. "May the seasons go with each of you. Wherever you roam, remember that the doors will always stand open for you here at Redwall." He lifted his paw. "You go with our blessing. Open the gates!"

Cheers rang out as the warriors marched out onto the path. As the gates closed behind them, everybeast rushed up to the ramparts for a parting glimpse of the three squirrels.

They were well rewarded. Tam had the Sword of Martin out; he raised it, turning it so that it flashed like white fire in the sun. The three squirrels started to sing an old Northland marching song, which every Redwaller knew well. All along the walltop, voices joined in until everybeast was singing.

"The regiment's kickin' up the dust  
Me footpaws are so sore.  
But I'll bear it stoutly with good grace  
'Cause I'm marchin' off tae war.

Battles are mean ugly things  
Aye it's all tae true.  
But soon I'll come marchin' back again,  
Aye, I'll come marchin' back tae you.

The Sergeant's singin' in me ear  
It's such a lovely tune  
That I'm stuffin' cotton in me ears  
I hope we skirmish soon.

Battles are mean ugly things  
Aye it's all too true.  
But soon I'll come marchin' back again,  
Aye, I'll come marchin' back tae you.

We meet the enemy on the field  
I'm in the thickest fray.  
But once I finish this little task  
I'll march back tae ye someday.

Battles are mean ugly things  
Aye it's all too true.  
But soon I'll come marchin' back again,  
Aye, I'll come marchin' back tae you."

Armel sniffed, wiping a paw across her eyes. Ferdimond DeMayne patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry now, old gel, they'll be back here someday t' steal the scones from under your pretty nose, wot!"

The infirmary keeper smiled through her tears. "Aye, you're right. Thank you Ferdy." She turned to the other Redwallers. "Let's give them a real Redwall send-off! Ready everybeast – one, two, three!"

Out on the flatlands, the three squirrels smiled as they heard a roar go up form the wall behind them. "Redwaaaalllllllllll!"

††

"How much farther, do you think?"

Doogy sighed in pretend exasperation. "I keep tellin' ye, lass, I think it'll be aboot sunset afore we reach et. Now don't ask again, please! I'm tryin' tae take a wee rest, but I can't wi' ye chatterin'!"

Tam laughed at his friend's annoyance. "You old wolloper! You'd probably say the same to a horde of bees and they'd pay about as much attention to ye as they would a dibbun! But he's right, Lin. We'll reach Salamandastron at about sunset if'n we travel at a good pace. Now finish your meal and relax. We'll make good time if'n we're well rested."

The three squirrels had been traveling for two days. Now, on the morning of the third day, Lin was getting jumpy. She was anxious to reach Salamandastron by evening, but Tam and Doogy, knowing the results of over-marching, were forcing her to go at a reasonable pace. They had stopped on a cozy hillock for their noon repast, and the squirrelmaid was eager to get moving again.

Feeling restless, Lin climbed up the side of the tiny hill. She sat there, tossing bits of grass into the air. Finding a short, stout stick, she began throwing it at a small stone embedded in the ground.

Tam watched her, smiling to himself. He began packing up the remainder of their meal, glancing at Doogy as he did so. The stout little Highlander was curled up fast asleep, he cap resting over his eyes. The orderer chuckled and tugged his friend's tailbrush.

Doogy Plumm leaped up, shouting "All right! All right! If'n a beastie cannae get a wink o' rest around here, we might as well get marchin'." He called to Lin. "Come oon down an' pack ye're haversack, lassie. 'Tis time we got movin'."

With one last toss of her stick, Lin came bolting down the slope. She had very little to pack; her water flask, a few odds and ends of leftover food, and a cloth she used as a plate were the only items she had to replaced in her haversack.

Tam slung his pack over his shoulder and squinted at the sun. As the unofficial leader of the group, he felt it his duty to guide them to the mountain. Having found the right direction, the borderer set out west and somewhat south. Lin and Doogy, after one last glance about their late resting place, followed him.

Hour after hour passed. The three squirrels talked and laughed with each other, sometimes breaking out into a song, sometimes laughing at another's joke. They covered mile after mile, their eyes and ears ever on the alert for danger, although none presented itself. Soon, the soil under their paws became sand, the slight risings and fallings in the terrain giving way to dunes. Lin became excited, for they could hear the sound of breaking waves some distance away.

As the sun slipped close to the horizon, Tam led his two companions up a dune. Lin gasped at the stunning view that lay before them.

The sun was about to begin its decent into the sea. The blazing orb, usually so blindingly bright, was now a deep, beautiful orange. The cloudless sky was a rich, dark purple along the eastern horizon, gradually turning to blue, green, pink, red, and orange as it neared the setting sun. The sea reflected this pristine beauty in its aquamarine depths, broken only by the gentle waves upon the shore, the white foam on their crests stained into a rainbow of beauty.

Doogy wordlessly pointed south. There, upon the beach, about two miles down the coast, it stood. Its peak cut a dark silhouette against the sky, every stone and ledge down its craggy sides plainly visible. Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard, was as magnificent and terrifying to look upon as the sunset unfolding in the west.

Lin suddenly felt a wave of emotion sweep over her. This was what she was fighting for; this serene beauty, this quiet peace. Memories of her past came crashing down on her like boulders. She pushed them away with an ease that almost frightened her.

The three squirrels started out south, heading strait toward the mountain. Lin felt as if she wanted to run toward the towering hulk of stone, but she constrained herself to walk next to her companions at a reasonable but steady pace. To distract her mind, she focused on the sunset. The colors of the sky and sea seemed to mesh together as the glowing fireball sank deeper into the sea.

She was so completely occupied in watching this fantastic sight that she nearly jumped out of her skin when, as they drew within a half-mile of Salamandastron, a voice seemed to speak out of nowhere. "Halt! Who are you, and on what business do you travel to Salamandastron?"

Lin instantly went into a crouch and drew her dirk, but Tam and Doogy merely chuckled. Doogy called out, "Fortindom, there's no need tae pass banter here. We're just harmless travelers who want tae have a word wi' Lady Melesme."

Lin thought a patch of sand moved as a reply rang out. "Is that you, Doogy?"

Tam burst out laughing. "Well, who else in Mossflower has that waistline and carries a claymore, eh? Of course 'tis us, ye old saber-swinger."

A hare, clad in a sand-colored tunic that matched his fur exactly, emerged out of the shadows. A saber was fastened to his side, and his sandy fur reminded Lin of the DeMaynes.

Tam and Doogy shook paws heartily with him. The Borderer then motioned Lin to come forward. "Captain Fortindom, this is Lin Tarenta. 'Tis because of her that we're here this evenin'. But are we goin' to be allowed into the mountain? We're famished for the want of vittles!"

Lin snickered to herself, for the Captain's ears shot up rigid at the mention of food. "Well, of course you can come in, wot! How's everybeast at the jolly old Abbey?"

Tam, Doogy, and Lin followed the hare into the mountain as conversation flew thick between them. Lin felt an overwhelming excitement pressing down on her as they drew near the mountain.

They had arrived at Salamandastron!

_

* * *

_

D'you all remember Captain Fortindom form Rakkety Tam? He isn't a major character in that story, but I liked him so I decided to have him be the first to meet the squirrels.

_Please review!_


	16. An Accidental Blessing

15: An Accidential Blessing

_15: An Accidental Blessing_

Lady Melesme was an impressive sight. Although no longer young, she was a tall, stately badger who looked every inch a ruler. Her simple, homespun smock befitted her well, and she wore it with a dignity very few creatures could muster. Her deep voice boomed through the mountain as she greeted her guests. "Welcome, Tam and Doogy! You have not visited us in several seasons; 'tis good to see you again." She turned her liquid brown eyes on Lin. "And who is this?"

Tam spoke up. "She's Lin Tarenta, a young squirrelmaid Doogy and I found on the bank of the river Moss. We've been taking care o' her at the abbey for the past few seasons, but she's started out on a quest that Doogy and I are bound to accompany her on by the word of Martin the Warrior. 'Tis a long tale, marm; perhaps we could recount it by a warm fireside."

Melesme nodded her huge head. "Come with me; I know of a place where we may talk in quiet."

The badger led the way through the many passages and corridors of Salamandastron. As she followed behind the badger, Lin stared about herself in awe. The ancient stone floors were worn smooth by countless paws moving across them through the ages. Sometimes the way was lit by torches blazing in the scores of sconces along the walls. Sometimes they moved in the faint light of the sun's last rays and the icy blazing of stars that filtered in through a window or loophole. Everywhere, hares could be seen moving about their tasks, leading young ones to bed, or just lounging and talking, the way hares do after a good meal.

Melesme finally opened a door and led the three squirrels into a small but cozy chamber. A window faced the sea, letting in the gentle breeze. A fire crackled on a hearth, flanked by a huge, badger-sized armchair on the left side. Several other comfortable, cushioned chairs were arranged in an inviting circle, beckoning to a beast to sit down and enjoy the company of one's companions.

Melesme settled down in the large armchair, beckoning to the squirrels to do the same. Once they were all seated, the badger lady opened the discussion. "Now, what is your story, Lin? What brings you to this mountain?"

Lin began her tale. "It's a long story, marm, but I'll try to make it as short as possible. It starts with my homeland of Tarenta, a fair-sized island in the mid-tropic sea . . ."

††

Tam, Lin, and Doogy spent a good few days at Salamandastron. Tam and Doogy spent much of their time with friends from their bygone days, hares such as Captain Fortindom and Sergeant Wonwill. Lin, on the other hand, went about making new friends. She quickly formed a close bond with three young hares named Shorelad, Redbud, and Crosow.

Shorelad and Redbud were cousins and shared the same light build, mild voices, and lanky slimness. Crosow, on the other hand, was exactly the opposite; a thick, stocky hare, he went around booming out his words with a voice that would have put a foghorn to shame. For some unknown reason, all three seemed to stick to Lin like glue almost from the moment the squirrelmaid walked over Salamandastron's threshold.

The three hares and the squirrelmaid spent four days simply enjoying themselves on the sunny beaches. One afternoon they had just finished an obstacle course and were resting in the shade of the mountain. Redbud, who earned her name by her slightly reddish fur, leaned back against a rock. She remarked casually, "Lin, did that bloomin' pike leave any scars on your leg when he brushed you, wot?" (The hares had heard the squirrelmaid's story several days before.)

Lin smiled to herself at the hare's manner of speech. "Aye, quite a few, I believe. He didn't exactly brush me; it was more of a head-on collision. Though I've been scarred in more places then that. My back has several from the slave driver's whip, but it's more then that."

Shorelad had an uncanny ability to read a creature's thoughts. He flicked his head sideways, glancing at Lin. "Understand perfectly, m'gel. I feel the same bally way when I hear tales about my jolly old second cousin, Corperal Butty Wopscutt. My word, but he was a dashin' warrior, wot! I get a lump in me bally throat when I hear tales of his death. But he went bravely; I wouldn't have chosen it any other way if'n I was him, wot wot!"

Lin blinked in surprise. "You're related to Corpral Wopscutt? I've heard of him; he was a through-and-through warrior! I hope I'm have as good as he was someday!"

Crosow grunted. "Layin' about in the sun's goin' t' be the closest you get t' him at this rate, wot!"

Redbud shoved him playfully. "C'mon, you lazy sack of potato pudden, get on your feet an' let's find somethin' to wake up that bally brain of yours, wot!"

Shorelad grabbed the heavy hare's shoulders. "Up you come, Crosow old lad! Let's go take a jolly old bath in the sea to freshin' you up!"

Yelling and protesting, Crosow was dragged down the beach by his three friends. Lin seized his shoulders. "All right, under you go!"

Crosow's shouts were cut off as he was pushed under water. He resurfaced a second later, fuming. "I'll bally well dunk all three of you! C'mon, you bloomin' assassins, try your luck on me, wot!" The irate hare charged at his friends, who fled shrieking with laughter.

Round and round the sands they went, laughing, shouting, and yelling. Several times the dripping Crosow slipped and fell in the sand, becoming caked in the stuff. Once, Lin tripped in a clump of dried seaweed that was lying on the tide line and got tangled in the mess of stems. Several times Shorelad and Redbud were flat on their backs with laughter.

They finally calmed down. Crosow brushed the sand off of his tunic, and Lin unwound the seaweed from her footpaws. The other two hares sat down on the rocks to catch their breath.

Crosow was about to speak when his aunt, a fat haremum named Bireska who was Salamandastron's cook, came marching out. She glared good-naturedly at the four young creatures. "For that ruckus I'm going t' make you lat eat a double portion of scones for tea, wot wot! Now come upstairs an' eat! 'Tis half an hour past time!"

Crosow hugged her. "You're an angel, Auntie! May I have a double portion of cream on my scones, wot?"

Bireska slapped his paw. "Keep squeezin' the breath out o' me an' you get nothin', young rip!"

††

The four young creatures ate their meal out on a small balcony that faced north to avoid the afternoon sun's rays. Munching on a scone, Lin glanced up the craggy slope of the mountain. She couldn't help remarking, "I wish there was a climbing slope like this on Tarenta. My clanbeasts would love a good challenge like this!"

Redbud nearly choked on her tea. "Climb this stretch of slope? You must be jokin' Lin! I've never heard of anybeast who climbed this flippin' face of Salamandastron an' lived to tell the bally tale!"

Lin's eyes twinkled. "Try me!"

Shorelad shook his head at the squirrelmaid's boldness. He pointed to a window twenty-five feet above them. "Very well. If'n you can make it up to that window there, I'll – I don't know what I'll jolly well do, but I'll do something splendid, wot wot!"

Lin smiled cheerfully. "No need for a reward; I could use the exercise!" With that, she sprang up the steep, rocky slope and began making her swift way up the mountainside.

Shorelad chuckled in admiration. "What a climber! D'you know, I think she's covering more ground climbing then she does at a brisk walk, wot!" He turned to his cousin. "Why, Redbud, what's the matter?"

Redbud looked pale. "That window opens into the forage room!"

Shorelad gasped. He whirled to call to Lin to come down, but she had already vanished into the mountain.

Crosow turned to Shorelad, whispering almost savagely, "The blinkin' forage room, of all rooms! That bally chamber is off limits to everybeast except with special permission from Lady Melasme. And now you've sent a creature who'd never even seen our jolly old mountain until a few flippin' days ago into that very room! Shame, wot!"

Redbud stopped the impending argument. "The only one who can settle this without tanning our hides'll be Lancejack Wilderry. He did the same thing when he was young. C'mon! We need to flippin' well hurry, wot!"

††

Lin slid down off the windowsill into the room. The air felt still, almost solemn, as she turned to view her surroundings.

A gasp escaped her mouth as she saw the chamber for the first time.

A huge bellows sat in the middle of the room, next to a smith's fireplace. Beside it were the various tools used in stoking the fire, bending and shaping metal, and cooling the finished product. The four windows in the room faced north and south and had window seats carved out of the bare rock below them. a pair of huge, oaken double doors filled a quarter of the eastern wall. At least four alcoves were tucked into various spots about the room, each being equipped with a bench and cushions.

But Lin's attention was attracted to something else.

All four walls were lined with weapons. Some were ancient swords so large only a badger could wield them. Others were tiny shrew rapiers that weighed less then two scones. All manner of blades, spears, clubs, bows, slings, javelins, pikes, and maces covered the wall; weapons gleamed from floor to ceiling. Some were of evident corsair or vermin origin; others were crafted by the badgers of the mountain, made for hares and woodlanders. All were beautifully made, strong, and deadly.

Some unknown force made Lin step toward a long javelin that hung on two iron brackets. She picked it up, weighing it in her paw. Then she shook her head, putting the weapon back in its place. Next she tested a rapier, again with the same result. Round the room she went, picking up blades, bows, and spears, testing them, and placing them back on their brackets.

After several minutes had passed in this manner, Lin's eye was attracted by a dirk that hung on the western wall by one of the alcoves. The pommel was of crystal and the cross hilt was of silver, decorated with green gems. The hilt itself was wound tightly with tough red twine. Its sheath was a slot in the buckle of a belt that hung from a bracket. This belt was of twine and linen, the buckle shaped like a running hare. It was an old weapon; not as old as Martin's sword, but definitely as old as Redwall's twin bells.

Lin carefully removed the dirk from its slot and held it in her paws. She ran her claws down the blue steel blade, shaking her head. Then she began to place it back. As she did so, the tip of the blade got tangled with a thin chain that was wound around a spare bracket on the corner of the alcove. The blade slipped. Lin caught it and hastily put it back in its place.

Then two things happened at once.

The first was that the doors behind Lin opened with a slight creak, and into the room rushed Lady Melesme, Tam, Doogy, Sergeant Wonwill, Captain Fortindom, and Lancejack Wilderry. Shorelad, Redbud, and Crosow followed close behind them, panting for breath.

The second was a scraping noise off to Lin's left. An instant later, something flashed in the sunlight streaming through the southern windows. Gasps came from the creatures standing in the doorway as they saw a blade slicing downward through the air strait for Lin's head.

Lin glanced upward and saw the weapon falling toward her. She immediately went into a crouch, reaching upward instinctively to stop the descending blade.

Her paw closed on a smooth handle.

Then she saw it for the first time. The axe was smaller then most others, but it was as keen as summer lightning and as deadly as winter storms. The handle was of a dark, hard wood, which seemed to shine as if it had a luster of its own. Two thirds of this was wrapped firmly in sturdy twine the color of the sand. The handle and blade were fused together with gold, made evident by the thin golden rings around the top and bottom of the double-bladed head. The head itself was of a strange black metal, as glossy as a mirror and as solid as stone. the edges were of silvery steel, polished to a blinding sheen. It seemed to fit in Lin's paws as if it was a part of her.

Tam gasped. A change came over the squirrelmaid the instant her paw closed on the axe. Her eyes flickered and burned like a raging fire, as if reflecting something from the past . . . or the future. Her face seemed to become more noble, that of a warrior. Her paws gripped the axe shaft tightly, as if refusing to let it go.

Then she raised her face. A strange light filled it; a light of happiness, foreboding, sadness, or hatred, none of the watchers could tell. The squirrelmaid acknowledged their presence for the first time. She turned to face them, her eyes glowing, her paws still gripping the axe. She uttered only two words, but the power in them was like the tolling of a great bell.

"I'm ready."

_

* * *

_

Did any of you catch that bit from the Long Patrol? The dirk I described is the one that belonged to Tammo. Also, the handle of Lin's axe is made of the same wood as Russa/Russano's stick.

_What do you think of Lin's weapon? If you go back to chapter 12 (chapter 13 on fanfiction,) Questions Asked, Questions Answered, you'll see that axes are not mentioned on Lin's list of weapons. I'm just wondering if any of you caught that and didn't comment on it._

_I hope I'm doing well on the harespeech. If you think I'm not, send me some tips. Please!_

_Liked Shorelad, Redbud, and Crosow? Hope you did, because they're going to play some major roles later!_

_As usual, please review! Thanks!_

_P.S. Any of you lot starting school soon? Lucky you! I'm starting tomorrow (Wednesday, that is)! Arrrrgh!_

_Hee hee._


	17. Darkened Blades

16: Darkened Blades

_16: Darkened Blades_

Sssssthunk!

Groomyer nodded in satisfaction as Gareth's arrow sank deep into the center of the target. The big grey fox gazed proudly on his son, who was quickly becoming a master of weaponry. He motioned toward the bundle of straw that served as a practice target. "Fetch your arrows, son, and put them away. You've done enough for one morning."

Gareth hurried to do his father's will. Groomyer watched him approvingly. The young fox was going to become a strong, cunning, merciless warlord like his father one day.

The two foxes strolled down one of the many lanes that led through the village. A silence hung between them. This was not uncommon; the pair had taken scores of silent walks like this before. But Groomyer was determined to have it otherwise this time. The fox chieftain glanced at his son as he began.

"Gareth, Vulla told me that he saw you sneaking about the slave compound last night. What was going on there?"

Gareth stiffened inwardly. He had a particular grudge toward the stoat Vulla, Captain of the _Thunderprow_. Also, the topic about his nightly trips to the slave compound was something he kept hidden from his father. His face remained calm, however. "Last night I couldn't sleep, so I went outside to walk down by the water. I was passing the slave compound when I heard what I thought was whispering. I snuck along beside the wall and found nothing; it was just an old snoring hedgehog."

Groomyer seemed determined to peruse the matter further. "And you saw no signs of attempted escape?"

Gareth was feeling increasingly nervous, but he hid it well. "No, sir, there were none." To divert Groomyer's attention, the young fox tactfully turned the conversation. "And how went the gathering of the Captains? Is everything stable in the ranks?"

Gareth was referring to a meeting between Groomyer and his seven Captains. Earlier that morning, the Captains and some of the first mates, including the slave driver Adastro, had met in the main room of the Chieftain's house. They talked about nothing in particular; matters such as the state of the rank-and-file creatures, the condition of the ships, the number of slaves, and one or two other topics were the only matters of substance discussed.

Groomyer smiled at his son, revealing his deadly canines. "Aye, it went well. Tuverel said that the _Spraystern_ had a rotten plank that needed to be replaced, so I told Adastro to set the slave crews to work chopping down an oak tree. I want the ship ready to sail by the next new moon."

Gareth blinked, but showed no other sign of shock or dismay. "The next new moon? But that's tomorrow, Father!"

Groomyer eyed his son. "The next full moon. I'm planning on sending it and the _Thunderprow_ out on a raiding voyage. I want to know just how many creatures are left in this area. Besides, we need new slaves and hordebeasts, and we have to get them from somewhere."

Gareth winced as a painful memory resurfaced. The reason Groomyer was constantly searching for new slaves and hordebeasts to replace the ones he lost was because he had every newborn creature slain. Gareth had never seen an infant live past its seventh day. Sometimes the parents were also slain when they refused to give up their newborn. This was a painfully common occurrence among the slaves, who had a stronger sense of duty then some of the vermin.

The young fox spoke up timidly. "But Father, couldn't you spare the babes? You could raise them and train them, and they'd make far more loyal slaves and hordebeasts them their parents, because your rule would be all they know."

Groomyer rumbled in his throat. "Babes are useless to me. New hordebeasts must be raised for at least eight seasons before they can actually fight, and I can't have the time spared to train them. Young slaves are worse; they can't work until they reach a certain age, at least three or four seasons." The big fox spat contemptuously. "Hah! Babes! Stupid little things!"

Gareth felt apprehensive, but he continued to press his point. "But Father, you were once a babe. Your life was spared, and look at you now. A warlord, with more then forty score hordebeasts behind him. One of those ba–"

"I know!" Groomyer suddenly roared, whirling on Gareth. The young fox slunk back against a wall, trembling. Groomyer continued – or tried to. "I know all that! it's just that – just that –" He suddenly let out an angry snarl, spun on his heel, and stormed away, calling over his shoulder, "Go find something else to do that isn't meddling on other creatures' business!"

Gareth stood leaning against the wall for several minutes, trying to recover his nerve. His father had turned on him in this manner a number of times before, usually when Gareth was trying to point out one of his father's evil ways. It always shook the young fox, and he would spend a few moments letting his nerves unwind.

The young fox finally pulled himself together, gripping his dagger hilt tightly. It was the only weapon he always carried, but his skill with it was such that he could defeat an opponent carrying a long sword. Holding it always gave him a feeling of comfort, for it had been his mother's blade, the one she herself had assisted in making. Gareth treasured it highly, for it was his only physical link to her.

The young fox trotted down one of the alleyways, heading toward the forest edge. He decided to see if he could do anything to ease the slaves' load concerning the business of the tree-chopping. It was very natural for him to help another, woodlander and vermin alike, as his mother had taught him.

††

Groomyer stood on a boulder that over looked a small clearing by a stream. A group of slaves, about twoscore strong, was busy about a large oak tree. Three of them, a mouse and two shrews, were hard at work hacking at the base of the thick trunk. The others were preparing the tools necessary for hewing the tree into planks for the ship's hull. All about them, hordebeasts stood cracking whips and shouting orders. It was a confusing scene.

A weasel stood near Groomyer. The big fox beckoned to him. "How goes the work, Adastro?"

Adastro the slave driver and Groomyer's first mate on the _Sharkfin_ bowed to his master. "Et's goin' well, Sire. I think de work'll be finished be tomorrer morn."

Groomyer turned to face the clearing again. "Good. For if'n the task is not completed by my the new moon, you'll be the one that is most severely punished."

Adastro swallowed nervously. He knew the punishment for disobedience well, as did every one of Groomyer's hordebeasts. Death.

Whimpers caught Groomyer's attention. Jumping off the boulder and drawing his scimitar, he strode toward the source.

A vole was sitting on the ground nursing his footpaw. The Ruthless One leaned over the hapless creature, his voice a deadly calm. "Why are you letting others do your work, slave?"

The vole gripped his ankle tightly. "I've twisted me footpaw, Sire. I can't stand!"

Groomyer spoke as if he was ridiculing a disobedient youngster. "Why don't you try to stand? You're just imagining the pain."

The vole did as commanded, but instantly sat down again, groaning. "I can't, Sire!"

Groomyer murmured gently, "I suppose you want a nice long rest and a beaker of mint tea then, I suppose? Does that sound pleasant?"

The vole nodded wistfully. "Aye, Sire. That sounds lovely!"

Groomyer nodded understandingly. "I see. Well then, I suppose we'll have to make arrangements for that . . ." He suddenly whipped his scimitar up and around, the blade flashing in the sunlight. The vole stared at the fox for a moment, and then fell dead on the ground, a red wound running across his throat.

Gasps and screams of fear rose from the stunned slaves. They stared at the fallen body of their comrade, and at the huge grey brute standing over it. The slaves gaped at their master, wondering what he would do next.

Grooomyer stood glaring at them for a brief moment. Then he threw back his huge head and let out a howl of rage and fury. Vermin and slaves alike huddled together in fear as the warlord bellowed, "I and Groomyer the Ruthless! I am master of this horde! Everybeast here will do whatever I command of them, or they will end up like this one!" He prodded the dead vole with his bloodied scimitar. "When I tell you to walk, you walk. When I tell you to run, you run. And when I tell you to perform a task, you will do it! Whether you are sick, injured, or fatigued, you will do it! Or die!" He stalked out of the clearing, holding his scimitar so that all could see it.

††

Hidden by a bush, Gareth watched a drop of blood fall from the place where he had bitten himself to keep from crying out when Groomyer slew the vole. He raised his eyes and watched a creature that was among the hordebeasts surrounding the slaves.

The creature was gripping a nearby branch tightly; so tightly that Gareth could see the muscles in the creature's entire limb tense. The creature's face was working as if trying to keep back a flood of emotion.

Gareth's mind was working fast. He took a mental note of the creature's face; he wanted to try to find this one later. Then, slowly and with incredible caution, the young fox backed out of his hiding place. Nobeast could know he had been there. As he walked back toward the village, he reviewed the situation over in his head.

A slave was dead.

A new wave of captives was about to sweep over Tarenta.

And he had a new mission; to find the others!

_

* * *

_

Did anyone catch my quote from Mattimeo? The character who spoke it in that book was Slagar the Cruel.

_I also mentioned a political discord that's been thrown about during the past few decades in part of my story. I wonder how many of you noticed it?_

_I'm sorry for everyone who had to start school before now. But hey, you can enjoy school if you want to. I do._

_Thanks for reading! Please review!_


	18. In a Legend's Wake

* * *

17: Northwards

_17: In a Legend's Wake_

"Give this to her when ye see her."

Tam was whispering with Sergeant Wonwill, an old friend of his. Doogy stood with Lin, waiting for his lifelong comrade to join them.

The sun was warming the sandy beach, sending up faint waves of heat when a beast stirred it. Ranks of hares lined the foot of the mountain for the travelers' departure. Lady Melesme stood in her place of honor in front of the first line with several of the higher-ranking hares. Lin and Doogy stood about a score of paces away from the badger, watching Tam in close conference with Sergeant Wonwill at one end of the ranks.

The Highland squirrel shot a fleeting glance at the squirrelmaid. "D'ye have everythin' ye'll be needin', lassie? We'll no get a chance tae get more supplies afore we reach the Northlands."

Lin shifted the weight of her haversack, thinking over its contents. Food, drink, a spare tunic, her cloak, a light traveling blanket, and a flint for lighting a fire were all packed neatly into her bag.

She nodded at Doogy. "I've everything I need. I just wish we didn't have to leave so soon. We only spent a week here; 'tis a place that needs a lifetime to understand!"

She pawed her axe. It hung at her side in a queer kind of sheath, which was made of shark's hide. The shape was that of an ovular tube. Into this tube was thrust the axe handle, which Lin could grasp through a deep, V-shaped notch in one side. The sheath was decorated with what could have been called chain mail. This was made of the same metals as the axe; gold, silvery steel, and a strange black metal. These were set in diagonal stripes across the sheath. The whole thing hung across the squirrelmaid's body, being strapped over her left shoulder by a thin, ornate chain, allowing the sheath to rest on her right hip.

Tam broke away from Wonwill and joined his two companions. He addressed them. "Are ye two ready to start marchin'?"

Doogy nodded. "Aye. 'Tis high time we were kickin' up dust, laddie. Let's get movin'!"

Lady Melesme approached them. "I am told you are prepared to leave. Are you ready to face what may lie ahead?"

Lin, Tam, and Doogy nodded in unison. The badger gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Good. Now, do any of you have a parting wish of me or my hares?"

Tam stepped forward. "Aye, marm. I'd like to ask ye to send two score hares to Redwall. Mossflower isn't a safe place by any means, an' I'd feel much better if there were more trained fighters there then Skipper, Ferdimond, and Kersey. They'll do all they can, I know, but 'tisn't right to put the burden of the protection of Redwall onto three beasts."

Melesme nodded. "Wisely said, sir. I will send two score hares to the abbey as you have wished, with my entire Long Patrol ready to set out to Redwall's aid at the first word of danger. Now, I have a few parting words for you. Are you sure you want to set out on your quest with only three creatures in your company? If you wish for more beasts, I can send well over ten score hares with you."

Doogy shook his head. "Nay, marm, 'tisn't wise tae set out a signal of numbers in the Northlands. Half o' the beasties would ne'er return! Nay, we'll travel in secret."

The badger ruler of Salamandastron bowed her head. "Very well. You go with the blessing of everybeast in this mountain. May the seasons smile on you!"

She walked gracefully back to her place in front of the ranks of hares. As she took her place, the Long Patrol began a song of farewell. The three squirrels strode away north to an ancient song of parting that had been sung as long as anybeast could remember.

"Seasons may separate us,  
Blades may part us,  
But friend, I tell you true,  
Your face again I will someday see,  
For there ain't nobeast like you.

Life is life, death is death,  
And nobeast can change these things.  
But lives can be lived out nobly,  
And more life death can bring.

Love of homeland,  
Love of kinbeasts,  
These are the things that drive ye  
To risk your life and bring them to freedom  
Are the things we hope for thee.

Life is life, death is death,  
And nobeast can change these things.  
But lives can be lived out nobly,  
And more life death can bring.

Now we say farewell,  
If for a time, at least.  
But someday we'll meet again  
Upon a white cloud of peace  
And nobeast will part us then.

Life is life, death is death,  
An nobeast can change these things.  
But lives can be lived out nobly,  
And more life death can bring."

Lin felt her heart swell with pride for her friendship with the hares of the Long Patrol as the last verses came drifting toward her on the wind. On an impulse she halted and turned to face the mountain. Her axe flashed in an arc over her head as she cried out, "Eulaliaaaaaaa!"

An answering roar came form the assembled hares. "Eulaliaaaaaaaa!"

Tam and Doogy also turned to face Salamandastron. The borderer squinted at the mass of beasts at the mountain. "There's some kind of disturbance down there. Wonder what's wrong."

Something hit the squirrelmaid. "I haven't said goodbye to Shorelad, Redbud, and Crosow!"

Tam barred her path back toward the mountain. "Ye'll see 'em again someday. Why say goodbye when–"

"Well, look who's comin'!"

Tam and Lin turned to face the mountain at Doogy's cry of surprise. Three figures were running toward them. a faint cloud of dust rose behind them, and each seemed to be carrying a bundle. Lin burst out laughing as they drew near.

"Shorelad! What are you doing here? Redbud and Crosow too! Don't tell me you ran all the way here just to say goodbye!"

Crosow was grinning from ear to ear. "We haven't come to say goodbye; we've come to bally well go with you, wot!"

Tam shook his head. "Ye three'll be needed here at Salamandastron. Besides, did you ask permission of Lady Melasme? I'm sure she wouldn't want ye dashin' off secretly."

Redbud twirled a sling in one paw. "She gave us her jolly old permission; never you fear about that, wot! Now, can we bally well come with you chaps? We've never been away from Salamandastron before, an' we'd bloomin' well love to go with you on your quest! Besides, you'll need some Long Patrol brains before long, wot wot!"

Doogy shook his head, chuckling. "Aye, ye can come wi' us. If'n ye pardon me askin', why dinnae ye ask us sooner? 'twould have been far easier."

Shorelad drew a long rapier from his belt. He ran his paw up and down the newly honed blade as he replied. "We only began thinkin' about joinin' you last night, after you three chaps had sauntered off to bed. We didn't see you this morning, what with us packin' our tuck an' supplies an' you lot sayin' your goodbyes to the other chaps and chapesses at the jolly old mountain, so we blinkin' well dashed off after you, sharp an' ready as a new twig, wot wot!"

Lin smiled happily. "I was hoping you would ask to come, but I didn't expect it at the last second! Join us and welcome!"

††

The six spent a fortnight traveling north. They went slowly, on account of the sometimes rough terrain and the fact that the northern waters were home to many a corsair ship. However, they saw no sign of another living creature as they traveled north up the western coast.

One day, two weeks after their departure from Salamandastron, Crosow was scouting ahead while the others followed behind at a slower pace. The weather had remained fair throughout their northward journey, but Doogy estimated that a good storm would soon change that. A pleasant breeze, coupled with the steady sunshine, made a perfect day for traveling.

Tam stretched, allowing the gentle wind to ruffle his fur as he remarked, "I haven't seen weather like this since I left the Northlands! A breeze to freshen ye, a sun to warm ye, an' a good meal waitin' at the end of the day! I wish Armel could be here now!"

Redbud breathed in the salty smell of the ocean. "I wish we could have a good meal now, wot! A pasty with dandelion gravy, a pitcher of hot tea, and a–"

Shorelad raised his paw to silence her. "Crosow's coming back, an' he looks like he's in a blinkin' hurry, wot!"

Crosow dashed up to them, panting. "See that point, the one that's covered in rocks? Just over that are caves, at least a flippin' score of them! I didn't see anybeast; I jolly well ran back to tell you chaps, wot!"

Tam furrowed his brow, speaking aloud to himself. "Caves, d'ye say? There might be unfriendly creatures living there, or they might just as easily be goodbeasts." He turned to his companions, issuing orders. "Everybeast prepare your weapons. I want to make sure nobeast is over that point that will harm us. Now come!"

They covered the half-mile or so of beach that separated them from the point in good time. Extreme care was taken in climbing the rocky point, which jutted out a goodly distance into the sea. Lin, Tam, and Doogy, being natural climbers, assisted the hares in scaling the huge pile of debris and boulders. They were rewarded for their efforts, however.

From the top of the rocky point, Lin could see the beach stretching away for miles northward. For a long distance, the strip of golden-grey sand was bordered by cliffs several hundred paces eastward of the tide line. Near the point, this sheer rock face was broken by over a score of caves, each high enough for the tallest in the travelers' company to walk about in the entrance without stooping. The hole place had a feeling of being long uninhabited, but a place that had once seen great happiness and terrible tragedy.

The six travelers slowly descended the rocky side of the point. After several long moments of climbing, they approached the caves. There was no sign that they had been inhabited recently; in fact, they looked as if nobeast had lived there for generations.

Doogy shook his head in wonder. "Great seasons o' slaughter! I wonder what this place was once like. Look, there's a bit o' broken dish 'ere, an' a dagger jus' inside tha' cave yonder. Somebeast must've lived here at one point."

Tam was looking at a small cave that was situated a short distance away from the others. He picked up a few spearheads from about the entrance, studying them. Then he turned to his companions. "Look here. There's words carved here. Old too, by the look of them." He scrutinized them, reading them aloud.

"My name is Luke the Warrior. My son Martin and I are sitting here by the fire as I write this, the last words I shall write before I set out to peruse the murderer of my wife, Sayna. I will not rest until Vilu Daskar lies on the bottom of the sea. My Martin is my biggest concern, however. He will have his grandmother Windred to watch him, but I hope that someday I will see him again."

Shorelad stared at him oddly. "What in the flippin' name of seasons does all that mumbo jumbo mean, sir?"

Tam turned to face him, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. "These caves are the first home of Martin the Warrior. He was born and raised here by his father Luke the Warrior before he began his journeys that would lead him to Mossflower. I remember Melanda telling me about Martin's journey that brought him back to this very spot. Three days north of here he learned about his father's death."

Crosow whistled in amazement. "Well, we set out on a quest to free a tribe of jolly old squirrels from a fox, an' we're learnin' about Redwall's founder along the way! What a coincidence!"

Redbud slung her pack from her shoulder. "Well, if'n you chaps'll help me, we can bally well get the tuck goin'. It's all very well to be chunnerin' on about Martin's past an' all, but if'n you ask me, why bloomin' well fuss over it, wot? Especially when there's a chance of a good scoff!"

††

That night the travelers sat around a cheerful campfire, talking merrily together and enjoying the dried vegetable stew Redbud had made. Everybeast voted it excellent, and demanded that the haremaid would serve it again.

During a lapse in the conversation, Crosow licked his bowl clean, raised his head, and called, "Shorelad, why don't you get out your jolly old flute, wot? I' haven't heard it in a flippin' half-season, an' this'd be the perfect time for a bally ditty."

Shorelad at first refused; but, when the others started calling for some music, he relented. "All right, all right, I'll play. But you chaps have t' promise that you'll sing with the tune, wot wot!"

They all agreed, and the lanky hare began rummaging through his haversack, talking all the while. "What d'you lot think I should play, wot?"

Several suggestions were proffered, but the one the hare finally chose was one of his own particular favorites. Pulling out his flute, which was made of polished elm wood, he began by running up and down the scales to relax his paws. Then he finally obliged his friends by performing the favorite of all Long Patrol hares; the Song of the Long Patrol.

"Oh it's hard and dry when the sun is high  
And the dust is in your throat,  
When the rain pours down, near fit to drown,  
And soaks right through your coat.  
But the hares of the Long Patrol, my lads,  
Stout hearts they walk with me  
Over hill and plain and back again  
By the shores of the wide blue sea.

Through mud and mire to a warm campfire,  
I'll trek with you, old friend,  
O'er lea and dale in a roaring gale,  
Right to our journey's end.  
Aye, the hares of the Long Patrol, my lads,  
Love friendship more then gold.  
We'll share good days and tread long ways,  
Good comrades, brave and bold!"

The waves lapped gently on the beach, and the firelight burned down to glowing coals as six creatures slept under the stars, warmed by good food, close friends, and a courageous song of perilous hares.

††

Lin woke the next morning feeling restless. She wolfed down the two oatcakes and cheese she received for her morning meal, and then pulled Tam aside. "My I go on a solitary scouting trip inland? I'll be back before sunset."

Tam considered her request and granted it. "See if'n ye can find some supplies to stock up our haversacks. These hares'll have us eatin' grass afore long!"

After packing enough food for a miday meal, Lin clambered up the cliff face, being carful not to knock down any stones onto her friends. When she reached the top, she found herself looking across a field about a hundred paces across. This was bordered by a forest of dense pines, knotted oaks, ancient willows, and a number of other varieties of trees. The squirrelmaid immediately took the treetops, preferring the safety of the leafy boughs to the vulnerability of the open forest floor.

She traveled like this for several hours, following all points of the compass. At high noon, she paused at a small stream for a drink. The water was clear and cold, and Lin spent a long moment letting the liquid run down her throat. She raised her eyes, her paws still damp . . .

And found herself looking down the point of a spear.

_

* * *

_

Ooh, my first official cliffhanger! Can anybeast guess what happens next? Oh, boy, this is one of my favorite parts!

_**NOTICE:**_

_If I get another review with the abbreviation OMG, I will hit the abuse button! If you must say something like that, you'll say "oh my gosh!" NO "oh my God!" THAT will make me mad!_

_Sorry about the rant, but "oh my God" goes against --. If you can fill in the blank you'll get a spoiler for the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter._

_Yay! I made my first milestone! 50 reviews! Let's see how long it takes me to get to 100 (no going back and reviewing anonymous, please. Why on earth did I put that in? Oh well.)_

_Can any of you guess where I got the title? Oh, all right, I'll tell you. They were following Martin's path from when he traveled north in Legend of Luke._

_I hope you liked my idea to include the Long Patrol's "anthem" in here. I love that song, and I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone else use it._

_Please review! Thanks!_


	19. Ever it Grows

18: Iron Chains

_18: Ever it Grows_

His straw-colored fur didn't set him apart from the others. His dark brown eyes were nothing special. The ragged tunic he wore was like the clothing of all his companions. His back was scarred, just like all that others. Only the raging fire in his heart and the light in his eyes set him apart from his companions.

Darrion had never known anything but slavery. His life had been spent pulling an oar, tilling the land at the threat of the lash, and serving his cruel masters. Most creatures would have given in to all this suffering long ago. But not Darrion. He had heard stories from newly captured slaves about the beautiful life as a free beast, to own yourself and not be unjustly held in irons against your will.

The manacle that held Darrion captive was a strong, rusty thing capable of holding back a full-grown badger. It had been placed there when he was six seasons old, and had remained there ever since. It hampered his every movement, often fastened to a running chain that was usually pegged into the ground to prevent the slaves fastened to it from escaping. Darrion hated that chain, which was fastened to up to five other creatures during the day, holding them together like fish tangled in a net. Every slave received this treatment.

The mouse, approaching his twentieth season, was determined to change that.

He would need help, however. And the only creature he knew could help him was the unlikeliest of candidates.

Darrion glanced up from the row of young plants he was tending near the forest to see that very creature walking toward him. His eyes brightened. His friend Watton had introduced him to Gareth some weeks earlier. Darrion had taken an instant liking to the young grey fox, who was battling all odds to help the creatures whom he could be torturing.

Gareth noticed Darrion's gaze and winked, acknowledging it. The straw-colored mouse blinked in response. Their eyes held for a moment. Then the fox sauntered off down toward the beach as if he had never known what the word "cruelty" meant.

Darrion sighed. He glanced down the line at his companions; an old hedgehog, a shrew, another mouse, and two of the native Tarentian squirrels. These two, Raulkus and Mirrdoc, were among Darrion's best friends. They often told him stories at night, after the slaves were locked inside the compound. Stories of life as a free beast. Stories of liberty. Stories of freedom.

Darrion suddenly started out of his daydreams. A strong paw clamped onto his shoulder, claws pricking lightly against his flesh. The mouse spun around, expecting to see the sneering face of Adastro, the slave driver.

Instead, he found himself staring into the honest grey eyes of Gareth.

The mouse instantly relaxed, grinning as he wriggled out of the fox's grip. "Why, hello, matey. What are ye doin' o'er here? I thought ye were headin' down t' the beach t' oversee the _Malstrom's_ repairs."

Gareth's face danced merrily. "Wrong, mate. I sent Adastro off to tend to that so you lot could have a little break." He revealed a bag that had been neatly and cunningly kicked under the bushes. "I brought you some vittles."

Gareth had been gradually introduced to the slaves after his first nighttime visit to the compound. Now they considered him a good friend who was trying to get them away from their suffering; in fact, that was what he was.

As the group sat munching on the bread, cheese, and fruit their friend had brought them, the squirrel Mirrdoc turned to Gareth. Speaking around a mouthful of dried apple he asked, "How are you sneaking all this food out to us slaves? I'd think you'd have been caught by now."

Gareth twitched his ears nonchalantly. "I manage, one way or the other. I have an advantage, being the son of the horde leader." His eyes darkened. Clearly he was ashamed of his father. "Most of the hordebeasts are afraid of me, and let me do whatever I wish."

The shrew, Lestik, piped up. "Don't ya ever get lonely, sneakin' around wit such a large secret? I'd prob'ly slip an' tell somebeast."

Gareth glanced sharply at the shrew. "Aye, 'tis a lonely life, lying to everybeast except the ones I'm supposed to be torturing. I think it is time to start planning our escape."

Pilkrew, the hedgehog, ruffled his headspikes. "'Our escape?' Yew mean yew'd be comin' wit us?"

Gareth blinked, staring off into the distance. "Aye. 'Tis high time I left this place. I'm not sure if I'm covering my secrets up enough or not. I'm afraid of my father; if he finds out what I'm doing, he'll kill me. There's no other way to say it. I'm worth far more to you alive then dead. Tell me; what do you think I should do?"

It was a strange question. The five slaves looked at each other. Then Raulkus voiced his opinion. "Gareth, don't try to draw your father's attention. Act as if you're trying to prepare to follow in his footsteps. Pretend to beat the slaves, act as if you're a born-and-bred tyrant. Then, when the time comes, slip away quietly. Don't do anything that might attract notice unless you have no choice."

Gareth bowed. "You are right. It is a good plan. But for now, you – and all the other slaves, for that matter – must stay unobtrusive. Don't rebel; that's the best way to get the attention of he entire horde. Work under cover, keep silent, and above all, don't betray me! It would cost many creatures their lives if'n you did."

Darrion, who had been shifting restlessly for the past few minutes, burst out, "But what can we do t' prepare fer our escape? We slaves 'ave nothin' t' defend ourselves with, let alone the trainin' to use 'em properly."

Gareth slowly drew a long dagger from his belt. He presented it hilt first to Darrion. "I give this as a gift of honor to you as the start of your armory. Bear it well." The fox's paw and the mouse's paw held for an instant as the blade passed from one to the other. Then the two creatures stepped back, the mouse sliding the dagger under his tunic for safekeeping.

Gareth continued with his instructions. "Take any weapon you find unattended, but be careful! Do not choose a weapon that is rich-looking; it will be highly prized by its owner. Simpler weapons that belong to rank-and-file hordebeasts are best, for they are mostly ignored. Hide everything in the sand, but choose a place that is easily reached and will be least expected. 'Tis the only way this plan will work."

The six slaves nodded. Darrion held out his paw. "I swear that every slave'll give 'imself t' ye as our leader, joined fer one cause; freedom."

The young fox joined paws with the mouse. "I, too, pledge my life and honor to help those who are imprisoned under my care. Someday, you will be free!"

Unbeknownst to either slaves or fox, they were being watched.

The weasel Zadi smiled wickedly to herself as she watched the seven creatures below her. Although she was too far away to hear what had been said, she had seen more then enough. The exchange of the dagger was her grand prize, let alone the fact that Gareth was interacting with the slaves at all.

Zadi slid out of her hiding place behind a large thorn hedge and rushed down toward the village to tell Groomyer her news.

The Ruthless one would be pleased!

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Remember Zadi? She first appeared in the chapter _A Tyrant's Heart__. She's Groomyer's head spy. She's going to be an interesting character, so keep your eyes peeled for her._

_These presidential elections are getting interesting, aren't they? Wonder who'll win?_

_Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, but I'm getting loads more homework then last year; it'll be about the same for the rest of the school year._

_By the way, no one guessed the perfect answer to my quiz on the last chapter. The only ones who came close were __Adderstar of ValorClan__ and __Mariel of RW__. Can you be a little more specific? I'll give you a hint. It's one out of ten._

_Thanks for reading and please review!_


	20. A Day of Peace

19: A Day of Peace

_19: A Day of Peace_

"Heeheehee! Gabba dis 'un, Vinnesta!"

"Weeheehaha! Me dinna see dat cunnin!"

"Hahahaheehee! Mine wen' alla way over!"

A gang of dibbuns was playing out on the morning lawns. They had discovered that their small toy balls of grass and vines, if thrown properly, could go over the roof of Brother Demple's shed in which he kept his gardening tools. Balls flew thick and fast, accompanied by the young one's delighted shrieks.

Kersey and Ferdimond, who had been given the duty of dibbun-minders, raced about distractedly as they tried to get the youngsters away from the shed. Ferdimond waved his paws franticly. "Ahoy, you bally babes, if'n you don't stop chuckin' those things over that fllippin' shed, I'm going to – oof!"

The hare had been treated to a salvo of balls hurled at his stomach, chest, head, and limbs. Although the balls were soft and flexible enough to be harmless, a double blow to his stomach drove the wind momentarily from Ferdimond's lungs. The dibbuns turned on him en masse, pummeling both him and Kersey with balls.

The two hares fled in the direction of the pond, trying to defend themselves by slipping behind bushes, trees, and anything that would provide cover. The dibbuns, however, surged at them, battering them with balls until they broke cover and rushed toward the pond.

Melanda walked out of Great Hall onto the grounds in time to see the hares splash into the shallows of the pond with the group of whooping dibbuns behind them. The squirrelmaid doubled over with laughter as Ferdimond, still being chased by the dibbuns, stepped backward, tripped, and fell into the water.

Splash!

The battle came to a grinding halt as the hare sat down hard, up to his chest with water. For a moment, Ferdimond looked as if he was about to explode. Then he began to laugh. The entire group caught on to the mood and began to laugh too. Giggles, guffaws, shrieks, and squeals rang and echoed around the abbey, enhancing the feeling of security and happiness.

Melanda ran down the steps of the abbey, still laughing. Her habit billowed in the gentle breeze as she dashed toward the pond. She called over to Ferdimond, "Are you all right, sir? You look like you could use a little soap to wash yourself with!"

This set the dibbuns off on another bout of laughter. Melanda and Kersey rounded them up, shooing them off to the orchard. Then Kersey helped her husband up. "Are you all right Ferdy?"

Ferdimond stood up, wringing out his tunic. He set out for the door to Great Hall, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be top notch once I get some scoff down me flippin' throat, m'dearie. I'm famished!"

The squirrel and two hares strolled leisurely into Cavern Hole. Ferdimond dashed upstairs to change his dripping tunic while Melanda and Kersey headed down the hall to the kitchens.

Friar Glisum was busy putting the finishing touches on a tray of honey-glazed scones. He spun round as the two creatures entered the kitchen. "Whoa! You two startled me! What do you want here?" He shook his spoon at Kersey, who was looking at the tray of scones hungrily. "Oh, I know what you want, marm. I'm talkin' to miss Melanda." He winked roguishly at the squirrelmaid. "And what can I do for you, pretty miss?"

Melanda chuckled. "Actually, Friar, I'd like to help you with these scones." She plucked the spoon and jar of honey from Glisum's paws. "By the way, where is everybeast?"

Glisum found a loaf of cheese and celery bread, which he handed to Kersey. "Take this outside, marm, please. I thought you were supposed to be minding the dibbuns!" Ignoring Kersey's horror-struck face at the idea of going back to her dibbun tending, Friar Glisum nudged the haremum out into the hall. He dusted his paws. "I'd let that 'un stay here, but a hare's a hare, an' there's no denyin' that!" He turned to Melanda. "Sorry about that, miss. Yore mother insisted that everybeast go outside to enjoy the weather. Huh, I'm goin' to follow her advice an' serve lunch out on the lawn!"

Melanda smiled as she pictured her mother chasing the abbey elders outside like naughty dibbuns. She nodded. "Aye, 'tis a beautiful day. The dibbuns are a little unruly this morning, but other then that it's relatively quiet outside."

††

Concerning the dibbuns, Melanda had underestimated. Concerning the quiet of the abbey lawns, she couldn't have been further from the truth. Chaos reigned outside. Dibbuns charged this way and that, swinging short sticks about. Now and then one of the little creatures sould hurl a tiny pebble at somebeast. It never caused more then a scratch, but the grown Redwallers were afraid that somebeast was going to get hurt. However, it was almost impossible to be heard above the shrieking, howling dibbuns.

Sitting slightly off to one side, Abbot Humble mopped his brow. He turned to his companion. "D'you have any idea what those little villains are up to, Brother Gordale?"

The old mouse who served as gatekeeper rubbed his paw where a pebble had struck. He grimaced. "Aye. The rouges are battling an imaginary vermin horde that's invaded the abbey. Huh, more like a horde of dibbuns set their mind on terrorizing their elders!"

Armel grabbed a mousebabe. Holding the wriggling dibbun tightly, she demanded, "What are you all doing? You're going to hurt somebeast! Stop it!"

The mousebabe Kitt waved his stick fiercly. "But the rats an' foskers are 'tackin' da abbey, marm. A hinfant is da on'y ceat'ure who c'n kill dese vermin. Lemme go, Marm!"

Armel dragged him off in the direction of the abbey building, remarking, "You're not battling anybeast until you're washed up and in clean clothes, young mouse. Look at you! You're filthy!"

Skipper finally stepped in and called for order. "Ahoy, you villains! D'any o' ye want strawberry cordial an' scones at lunch? Well? Do ye?"

Silence suddenly fell. Then a molebabe called out, "Woi, o' course we do, zurr. Woi shouldn't we?"

Skipper continued. "'Cause if'n ye lot don't come with me an' my crew down t' the pond, you won't get any! Now be good creatures an' come with me. I'll take ye all on a log ride."

The dibbuns forgot their "battle" in the excitement that followed this announcement. Yells of delight emanated from the youngsters as the raced after the otter chieftain in the direction of the pond.

Abbot Humble looked at Gordale in puzzlement. "Log ride?"

Gordale raised his eyes to the sky. "What will that otter think up next? A rope's tied to the front end of a log an' an otter pulls it. the dibbuns pile on top of the log for a free ride."

Armel, who had released Kitt from his impending bath sentence, shook her head. "'Tis high time those dibbuns learned manners. But we were once young to, and they must have some fun before they have to grow up."

She was interrupted by a polite rap on the front gate. Several able-bodied beasts started forward as Gordale called, "Who goes there?"

"'Tis the Long Patrol! Open up!"

Willing paws unbarred the gates. Thirty hares poured in, headed by two familiar friends. Abbot Humble embraced them heartily. "Sergeant Wonwill! Captain Fortindom! Welcome back! What brings you here?"

Wonwill was grinning from ear to ear. "Tam asked Lady Melesme to send a group of hares t' help guard the abbey, sah! Thought that you lot could use the reinforcements if'n trouble turns up, wot!"

Humble threw up his paws. "Enter and welcome! Although I'm not sure what Friar Glisum'll say to feeding a score and a half of hares for the next season or two!"

††

Friar Glisum was half furious, half proud that the hares had arrived to test him and his kitchens. He ordered that the entire Redwall cooking staff set to work preparing the midday meal for the Redwallers and the hares. The result was superb. Served in the orchard, the simple but delicious meal made a perfect excuse for old friends to sit down and talk together. Groups of hares and Redwallers could be seen all over Redwall exchanging news, swapping stories, and chatting happily together.

Melanda filled her plate with Friar Glisum's vegetable bake and a small raspberry tart. Joining company with Sister Mimsie and a young haremaid named Flaxa, the squirrelmaid settled down near the south wallgate. The trio talked merrily together for some time. Flaxa began telling a story about when she was recruited into the Long Patrol.

"An' then the Sarge comes out wearin' dockleaves, roots, cotton tufts, an' all manner of other rubbish wot! An' then–"

"Hailin' the abbey! Is anybeast there?"

Melanda jumped up. "By the seasons, it's Yoofus Lightpaw!" She quickly opened the small wallgate. Throwing it wide, she rushed out to greet the visitor, who, to her surprise, had his wife in tow. Each was carrying a bundle over their shoulder.

Melanda smiled at the voles. She lifted the bundle from the female vole's shoulder, exclaiming, "You two are just in time for lunch! Here, give me that pack, Didjety, you look as if you've run all the way from your house!"

Yoofus had a grim look on his face, something that was totally uncharacteristic of him. He rushed past Melanda, gritting through clenched teeth, "Aye, we've done just about that, missie. Where's the Father Abbot? I 'ave somethin' t' discuss with him. It's urgent!"

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Yikes, am I actually getting two chapters up in two days?! Well, I was kinda bored today after if finished my homework, and this chapter was relatively easy to write. Hope you liked the dibbuns!

_Jade TeaLeaf__, if you don't update __The Chains that Bind Us__ soon . . . (trails off, smiles teasingly.) Just joking! I love that story!_

_Scyphi, I love your fic Weylan's Treasure. I'm getting ready to start Weylan's Family, but I have to work that in around homework. Again, love it!_

_Please review!_


	21. Braveheart

20: A New Friend, a New Problem

_20: Braveheart_

Lin leaped to her feet, drawing her axe as she did so. Her flashing eyes took stock of her opponent as she went into a warrior's crouch.

To her shock, she found herself staring into the face of not a vermin, but a squirrel.

The squirrel was a male about Lin's age, with black fur, black eyes, and a startled expression. Although Lin was reasonably tall, this young squirrel was taller then she by about half a head. His tunic was ripped and patched in several places, looking as if it was the only garment he owned. His blacker-then-black eyes were a mixture of surprise, worry, and fear, and his grip on his spear trembled slightly as he held it firmly.

The two stared at each other across the brook for a long moment. Then the stranger lowered his spear, letting loose with a streak of words that Lin found utterly confusing.

"I'm sorry; I didn't realize that there was an inspection today. I mean, I was ready for one, but I didn't know that it was supposed to be here. My camp's over behind the thicket, an' –"

Lin raised a paw to silence him. She stared at him in puzzlement. "What in the name of seasons are you talking about?"

The young squirrel took a deep breath. "But, surely you're out here patrolling the sentries, Captain?" He suddenly stopped, weighing up the squirrelmaid. His eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment. "You're not a captain, are you?"

Lin shook her head. "I don't have a ranking of any kind. Who are you? What do you mean by sentries?"

The young squirrel lowered his spear until its point rested against the soil. He beckoned to Lin. "Come with me an' I'll explain."

Although she liked this squirrel's attitude, Lin was still wary of a trap. She followed the stranger to a tiny clearing about twenty paces from the narrow stream where they had met. As they entered the clearing, Lin was startled by the poverty of even this temporary campsite.

A small fire glowed in the center of the clearing. To one side a ragged blanket was tucked into a hollow log, with a few odds and ends of food on top of this. The only other article in the camp was a small, rotting pail that had been carved out of a segment of branch.

The squirrel settled down by the fire, poking at it with a stick. He then beckoned Lin to sit on the opposite side of the coals. The squirrelmaid did this and kept herself alert for any trickery.

The squirrel, however, did not show any signs of deception. Instead, he settled down and began to speak. His voice was a quiet, strong baritone, with a sound to it as if it had been restrained for many seasons.

"I'm called Oakfur by most; by others, simply 'squirrel.' I'm a 'renegade;' someone who's ancestors defied the law of my tribe."

Lin couldn't help but break in. "Why? What happened?"

Oakfur sighed. "My mother, Varien, was pregnant with me. Just as she went into labor, my father, Premund, was called into battle; my tribe was fighting a small horde of vermin at the time. According to the law of my tribe, if a warrior is called into battle he has to go, no matter what is going on otherwise. My father disobeyed that law, for my mother was having trouble delivering me. The leader of my tribe decreed that my father was cast out of the tribe's society forever, an' all his descendants would also be exiled, until one proves himself in battle.

"My mother died shortly after giving birth to me, and my father was left to raise me without the help of other tribe members. He managed, but died five seasons ago when a sickness swept through our tribe, killing him an' many others. I've been set on sentry duty most of the time ever since."

Lin was fuming with indignation. Her eyes snapped sparks as she exclaimed, "Exiled from the society for staying with his wife! Descendants outcast! What is your tribe, a pack of thieving, lying murders?"

Oakfur shook his head vehemently. "Oh, no, it's just that – well, we used to have a supreme ruler who kept everything running smoothly. The eldest offspring of that ruler took over the position when the elder died or passed the reins on. Everything was fine until the last ruler died at sea in a shipwreck without leaving a successor.

"The tribe fell apart at the seams after that. We've had all kinds of rulers, leaders, chieftains, and generals, but none of them have really worked. We'll find a way to lead ourselves someday, though, I'm sure of it."

Lin shook her head in admiration and pity of this young squirrel to whom she was beginning to warm. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Oakfur, but at least you have a tribe." She explained her situation and background in brief. Oakfur was intrigued. They spent some time discussing each other's backgrounds and life-stories.

As the conversation died down, Oakfur seemed to be lost in thought. When he spoke again, his remark was completely unexpected by the squirrelmaid. "You say you need help. My tribe and kinbeasts are born-and-bred warriors who are in need of a fight now and then. What if my tribe sailed with you and fought with you as allies?"

Lin gasped. "D'you think that your leader would agree to that?"

Oakfur snorted humorlessly. "I'm positive. Slarave loves a good battle."

Lin glanced at him sharply. There was something in his voice that was hinting more, but she made no comment.

When Oakfur had extinguished the fire and wrapped his few belongings into a bundle, he picked up his spear and led Lin into the forest. As they traveled, the squirrelmaid looked about her. Huge pines, oaks, and a few other deciduous trees blanketed the landscape. One or two tiny brooks gurgled between the tree trunks on their endless journey to the sea. A bird twittered somewhere in the distance, but in the immediate area there was complete stillness.

Lin finally spoke. "What is Slarave like?"

Oakfur, who was just ahead of the squirrelmaid, turned his head slightly to answer. "She's a rough, tough warrior who knows how to get her way."

"A female? Was she the leader when you were born?"

"Oh, no, that was Korton. He died in the same plague that took my father." The young squirrel dropped back a pace so they could talk more easily. "What is – was your village life like?"

Lin sighed, both wistfully and happily. "It was perfect, Oakfur. Life was quiet there, but there was always something going on. I remember once how three of our ships came back from Volkendo, the island to the north of us, each with an entire load of fruit, vegetables, and grain. We had a feast, with all kinds of food, games, and entertainment. It was one of the best times of my life!"

Oakfur had a dreamy look on his face. "Mmmm, all that food, and the games! It sounds wonderful! What kind of entertainment did you have?"

"Dancing, music, singing, and the occasional jest. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that my tribe hasn't done anything like that since the last ruler died. Before then, food was plentiful, and we had bountiful occasions to celebrate. I've never seen a feast or celebration before. Dancing, music, an' singing have been mostly taken out of the tribe except for military reasons."

Lin continued with the conversation. "What exactly is your tribe?"

"We're warriors, born an' bred. There are a few exceptions, but they are usually employed as healers. As to our way of life, we've been nomads for almost as long as anybeast can remember, but our numbers are so great that it's almost necessary to move from place to place occasionally. 'Tis a good life an' we're content with it."

Lin picked up the line of discussion "What is your tribe's name?"

Oakfur's voice sounded proud as he uttered one word. "Foeseeker."

††

They came to the place a quarter of an hour later. It wasn't a clearing, but the forest was definitely thinner there then the surrounding woods. Oakfur walked into the encampment as if nothing was more ordinary, but Lin almost stopped in her tracks when she saw it.

The squirrelmaid gaped in stunned surprise at the complete disorder of the camp. Tents were thrown about in complete disarray. They were made of patched, ragged, dirty canvas, most of them sporting patches of tree limbs, stick-and-daub walls, bits of foliage, and old clothes draped across them to keep out the weather. In between the tents were countless fires, most with a pot or dish sitting nearby. Thin ropes were strung between trees, each rope sagging with the weight of dirty laundry. A few young squirrels splashed about in a wide stream that flowed through the camp, evidently the tribe's primary source of fresh water. Hundreds of other squirrels were scattered throughout the camp, cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, washing, sleeping, talking, arguing, and fighting. Chaos reigned in the Foeseeker camp.

Oakfur led Lin to the center of the camp, which was marked by a tall pine with its lower branches trimmed off to make a kind of roof. Just below the lowest remaining branch was a three-pointed shield, decorated with strange symbols. At the base of the tree trunk, flanked on either side by two other squirrels, stood the beast Lin had come to see.

Slarave, leader of the Foeseeker tribe, was a tall female squirrel. She wore a tunic of chain mail, over which was a tunic of green linen. A belt of strongly plaited brown cord was looped crosswise around her body. Into this were tucked four throwing knives, each on sharp, deadly, and ready to kill. Slarave made a fine sight that would have struck dread into the heart of a lesser beast.

But Lin stood tall, her paw resting easily upon her axe, her head raised proudly. Oakfur stood a pace to her left, slightly behind his new friend. His head was down in submission to his leader.

Slarave sent a icy stare in Oakfur's direction. Then she turned to face Lin. The two squirrels stood staring at each other for several long minutes, each trying to read the other's thoughts and force the other into deference.

Slarave finally blinked, lowering her gaze to Lin's well-muscled shoulders, the squirrelmaid's clearest sign of her slave days. Slarave's voice was strong but she made it harsh, her idea of a commanding voice. "What do you want here, squirrel?"

Lin shot back with the same indifference. "You're just as much a squirrel as I. Do you speak to our entire species, or do you address Lindenton Tarenta, daughter of Vura Hon and Mittreya Tarenta?"

Slarave snapped, "I speak to the insolent stranger who stands before me." She glared at Lin, avoiding direct eye contact. "I will say it once more; what is your business here?"

Lin, not liking Slarave's tone, gripped the shaft of her axe. "I come here on a proposition of battle. I've been told that the Foeseekers are mighty warriors, and that they would be of great help to my tribe in their time of need."

Slarave's eyes lit up at the mention of battle, but flattened out again when Lin said that the Foeseekers would be assisting another tribe. She glowered at the squirrelmaid. "And what would we get in return?"

Lin continued smoothly, although she was battling her instincts to leap on this squirrel and attack her. "You would receive a good ally, and we would trade resources with you."

"Ah, so that is to be our motive. How many warriors do you have?"

"I do not know."

"Hah! She doesn't even know her own numbers! Probably they have thousands a beasts in their ranks, each crying to run home to mother!"

Lin was furious. "I'd say your so-called warriors are that way, not the Tarentians! There're only two hundred of us or so, if even that." She stopped suddenly. "If any."

Slarave began to shout, drawing one of her daggers. "Foseekers, cowards! Why we have the blood of some of the best squirrel warriors on earth running through our veins, and you dare to call us cowards!"

Lin also drew her axe, squaring up to Slarave. "Aye, I dare to call you cowards! You send out single creatures to defend your borders who have little or no military training! I call that cowardly!"

Slarave whirled on Oakfur, who cowered back a pace. The tribe's leader roared at him, "You little sneaking liar! You've been telling tales about us! Traitor! I'll have you placed in irons for this!" She leaped at the young squirrel before Lin could react, pinning him to the ground her knife. Her voice was deadly cold as she snarled at the squirrelmaid, "If'n you even think about leaving our camp, this 'un'll die!" She kicked Oakfur savagely. "Guards, take him to the pit!"

As Oakfur was dragged away, Slarave smiled coldly at Lin, addressing her. "I think this has just begun, prisoner." She walked off after Oakfur's guards, laughing.

Lin glared after her. Something deep inside her began to boil, creeping upward. The squirrelmaid's eyes narrowed as she growled, "Aye, Slarave, this is just the beginning. But justice will come, in ways that you do not expect. You'll see!"

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Wow, a squirrel who sounds more like a Gawtrybe then your ordinary woodland squirrel! Interesting, eh?

_Okay, here are the ages of some of the new characters:_

_Shorelad 17 – 18_

_Redbud 16 – 17_

_Crosow 19 – 20_

_Darrion 19_

_Zadi 28 – 32_

_Oakfur 18_

_Slarave 27 – 29_

_Congrats to __Blissey__ for being the only one to win the contest I put out at the end of the last Lin-focused chapter, __In a Legend's Wake__. Here's the answer: "You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain;" one of the Lord's commandments. That's what I meant when I said "one of ten!"_

_I know the title sounded strange, but it has a double meaning. Lin braving it out with Slarave, and Oakfur remaining strong throughout his seasons of suffering._

_Thanks and please review!_


	22. A Life on the Line

21: Hanging in the Balance

_21: A Life on the Line_

Gareth strolled leisurely through the village. He felt light of heart after his friendly meeting with the slaves. They had seemed almost happy. Gareth was contemplating the young mouse Darrion. That one could become a great leader with proper training.

Gareth entered the large square that was the center of the village. This was the place where everything took place, from celebrations to executions. It was also the place where the former chieftain's house stood. This was built against the back side of the square. Like all the buildings in the village, it had dirty walls, scraggly thatch, and filth crusted everywhere. Gareth hated living in such grimy conditions, but it couldn't be helped.

The young grey fox walked up to the little house. As he laid his paw on the latch, he glanced at his belt. His dagger was tucked safely into it, and there was no evidence that he had stowed another there a short while ago. With a slight smile, Gareth walked into the house.

Groomyer stood leaning against the table, a strange look somewhere between a smile and a frown on his face. His paw rested easily but ready on his scimitar hilt. Behind him, next to the cobwebbed back window stood Zadi, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Gareth paused for a brief instant, his face held in a blank look. Then he approached his father. "How is the ship repairing carrying on, Father? D'you need my help?"

Groomyer drew his son down on a chair. His voice was smooth; almost too smooth. "No, Gareth, I want to ask you a few questions." He suddenly lowered his voice to a deep, rumbling growl. His eyes hardened into chips of ice as he gripped Gareth's shoulder, his claws pricking the young fox's flesh. "What are you doing with the slaves?"

Gareth barely hid his fear as he voiced a long-rehearsed answer. "I saw some of them whispering together when they thought nobeast was watching them. I slipped into their numbers and posed as a friend, giving them food now and then. It was never much, but slaves will do almost anything for food. I bought their confidence with it, and I now can listen to their plotting with their utmost confidence."

Groomyer released his grip on his son's shoulder. The huge tyrant glanced at Zadi, and then continued with his interrogation. "All very well, but why did you give a straw-colored mouse a dagger just a short while ago?"

Gareth took a deep breath, trying to relax his tense nerves. "I gave him the dagger because he's been clamoring for one for days, and I was afraid that he would try to steal one from a hordebeast. Rather then just catch him alone, I thought that we should wait for the entire band of ringleaders to expose themselves and take them all out in one sweep. The dagger was just a bribe to keep the mouse quiet. I told him that on pain of death was he to use it before I gave the command. Hah, that 'un'll be out there with the other ringleaders when the time comes, trying to prove his worth."

Groomyer eyed Gareth. "Why didn't you tell me about this before now?"

Gareth looked his father in the face. "I didn't want you to know."

The corners of Groomyer's mouth twisted in a snarl. "Why not?"

Gareth struggled to maintain his composure. "You would have forbidden me if'n you had found out before now."

Groomyer flicked his tailbrush as he contemplated what his son had just said. It was true that he would have forbidden Gareth from interacting with the slaves, but he was unsure what to do about it now. The warlord growled and muttered to himself as he paced back and forth, thinking rapidly.

He finally turned to Gareth. "You may continue with your visits to the slaves, but only if'n you tell me everything you learned when you get back."

Gareth nodded, fighting his urgent desire to rush out the door. "Thank you, Father. I will tell you everything you wish to know whenever I finish a talk with the slaves."

Groomyer nodded, apparently satisfied. He smiled at his son, revealing his glittering canines. The huge grey fox nodded to the door. "You may go now, Gareth."

The young fox started for the door. In a twinkling he was on his back with Groomyer's scimitar point lightly pricking his throat. The warlord emphasized every word he spoke with a light jab of his scimitar. "I want to know the truth. What are the slaves plotting behind my back?"

Gareth tensed with fear, but he answered his ruthless father. "They are talking about escape, but they all agree that they don't have enough weapons to do so. Many are all for biding their time and wait until we leave this island and sail elsewhere. Others want to break out in force as soon as possible. They are divided within themselves, and cannot make final decisions. That is all, Father."

Groomyer leaned forward, the scimitar point piercing Gareth's flesh as the Ruthless One snarled, "If I find that you are double-crossing me, Gareth, your life will be as worthless as a dead leaf. Do you understand?"

Gareth nodded fearfully. "Aye, Father."

Groomyer lifted the scimitar from his son's throat. "You are my son, and I want you to become the next horde leader. But I can just as easily choose one of my captains to follow me. Watch what you do, Gareth, for if'n you don't please me, your carcass will feed the fishes!" He flicked the scimitar at the door. "Get out."

Gareth scrambled hastily out the door. Groomyer watched his son go until he was out of sight. Then he whirled on his spy. Zadi cringed under the warlord's ferocious gaze as he snarled at her, "The same goes for you, my pretty. Now, get out there and follow my son. I want to know his every move, d'you hear?"

Zadi nodded, her eyes betraying her terror.

Gareth's formerly high spirits had been shattered. As he stumbled across the square, his paw went to his throat. A few drops of blood stained his fur as he ran, gasping and sobbing, down one of the small side streets and into the woods. He finally collapsed under a tall, knotted willow that grew on the bank of a small river some distance from the village. He closed his eyes, listening to the soothing sound of the water over the stones.

A paw clamped down on Gareth's neck. The young fox felt the icy tip of a dagger settle at the base of his skull as the attacker's breath hissed in his ear.

"Speak, or die!"

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Wow, another cliffie! What did you think of that chapter? Come on, please review!

_Again, sorry about the sluggish posting, but I've been having plenty of homework to keep me busy this week. Also, I've been trying (successfully) to sign up to be a Beta Reader. Thank you __Jade TeaLeaf__ for the help!_

_Now you know that you want to send a review, yes you do . . ._


	23. Disturbing News

22: A Day of Peace

_22: Disturbing News_

"Now, Yoofus, tell us what is going on."

Abbot Humble was presiding over a hasty meeting in the Gatehouse. Gathered there were Brother Gordale, Armel and Melanda, Captain Fortindom, Sergant Wonwill, Ferdimond and Kersey DeMayne, Skipper, and Brother Demple. In a cushioned chair near the window sat Yoofus Lightpaw, a beaker of water in his paw.

The Volethief looked worn out. His fur was tousled, his whiskers were unruly, and his footpaws were worn, scratched, and dusty, with the claws scuffed and chipped. All in all, he looked as if he had had a few hard days on the move. Despite his bedraggled appearance, Yoofus began his tale with spirit.

"D'ye lot remember the Muskars, that family o' mice that visited 'ere last summer? Well, Didjety an' I went to a little feast o' theirs. It was in celebration of their first grandchild, ye see. It was quite a gatherin'; all their children were there, along with two otters that live nearby."

Skipper thumped his rudder. "Rillock an' Rushpaw, I'll be bound. Hoho, those two rogues love a good party. I'd be surprised if'n they weren't there."

Abbot Humble glanced sternly at the otter. "Skipper?" The otter chieftain glanced apologetically at the elderly hedgehog. Humble nodded. "You may continue, Yoofus."

The Volethief took another sip of water. "We enjoyed the feast, Didjety an' I. We left well after sundown; we had traveled there on a raft o' ours, so it was a quick trip home. The two of us 'ad just left the Muskars an' rounded the first bend in the stream when we heard a scream; mind you, it wasn't a surprised scream, just a scream of plain fear. It was cut off, as if the beast 'ad been struck.

"Didjety insisted that we go back an' check on the Muskars an' otters; Rillock an' Rushpaw 'adn't left, y' see. When we came 'round the bend, everythin' was exactly how it had been when we left, except that there were no creatures. They had simply vanished. There wasn't a single track anywhere to show were they 'ad gone. The only evidence that anything had happened was this."

Yoofus drew a scroll of birchbark out of his tunic and tossed it onto the table. Everybeast stared from it to the Volethief, waiting for an explanation.

It was not long in coming. Yoofus drank a few sips of water, shifted about until he was comfortable, and then continued. "It was pinned to the Muskar's front door with a knife. It looked as if it had been scrawled in a hurry, by a rather uneducated beast." He picked up the scroll and unrolled it. "Here's what it says:

"To any creature that passes by. The mice who dwelled in this house were deemed unworthy to continue 'ere. They 'ave been removed t' a place o' safety where they will live out their remainin' days, protected from all harm and servin' their masters, the Hooded Host. Along with the mice were two otters. These also 'ave been taken t' a place o' safety. Signed Gorvaz, Captain in the Hooded Host."

Yoofus dropped the scroll on the table and studied the reactions of his friends. Melanda and Armel had looks of shocked horror on their faces. Skipper, Wonwill, Fortindom, Ferdimond, and Kersey were staring at the tabletop, digesting the information. Brothers Gordale and Demple were staring at each other, their eyes expressing their shock of the message. Abbot Humble gazed about the assembled creatures, reading their faces and emotions.

Skipper was the first to speak. "Have ye heard anything else about this Hooded Host?"

Yoofus shook his head. "Not directly, but a fortnight ago, a small group o' the Gousim passed by me dwellin'. One o' them was Log a Log Togey's nephew, Jendik. He an' about half o' the group went out on a foragin' trip one day and disapeared in a similar manner as the Muskars an' otters. The other shrews were able t' track them some way int' the woods, but the tracks vanished suddenly with no sign o' any attack. Again, there was a birchbark scroll pinned t' a tree with a Gousim arrow. The information it gave was just about the same as this 'un.

"I've heard the occasional rumor from the east of creatures vanishin' int' thin air, but I never believed 'em until now. From what I've been able to gather, there's a dangerous horde in hiding somewhere south an' east o' here. That's all the information I can give ye; I'll be glad t' lend me services t' the cause, but I'm a thief, not a warrior."

Fortindom eyed Yoofus sternly. "Aye, but you've got a bright noggin, an' 'twould be of great service to us if'n you put it to good use, wot!"

Melanda broke in unexpectedly. "You could also use your skills of moving about unseen to track down these vermin for us, and spy on them if'n you do."

Yoofus winked roguishly at her. "Anythin' for a pretty maid! I'll give it a go, but not before I've had a good meal of Redwall vittles!"

The Volethief excused himself, leaving his friends to consider the problem.

Armel sighed. "I wish Tam and Doogy could be back here now."

Kersey sniffed, nodding. "So do I, Armel, but Martin commanded that they jolly well had to go with Lin, an' who'd disobey him, wot?"

Abbot Humble turned to Fortindom and Wonwill. "What do you think of this situation?"

The two hares looked at each other. Wonwill shrugged. "I'm lost as to who the bally blighters are, Father. No hare at Salamandastron is familiar with the area east of Redwall. All I can say is that we should post sentries on the walltops, just in case anybeast tries to attack."

Fortindom added his contribution. "Once Tergen gets here, we can send him out to Salamandastron to inform Lady Melesme about this little problem. He can also find Log a Log Togey and explain what's going on to him, too. As for the Redwallers, they should all stay inside the bloomin' Abbey walls unless absolutely nessasary, wot!"

Humble looked plesently surprised. "Tergen is coming? Why didn't you tell me before?"

Wonwill grinned dryly. "There was so much goin' on, Father. What with the feast and that vole's news, I forgot t' tell you, wot!"

Skipper leaned forward. "Before we make any plans of attack we need to find out who the villains are. I think Melanda is right; Yoofus would be the best choice for a scout. When Tergen gets here, I'll arrange for him to speak with Yoofus at least once a day when the vole's scouting; the goshawk can bring the information back to us here at Redwall."

Ferdimond rose from his seat. "Permission to go post sentries, Father, wot!"

Humble nodded to the hare. "Go ahead. The sooner those sentries are on the wall, the safer I'll feel. Brother Gordale, please go around to all the gates and make sure they're all tightly locked. Brother Demple, will you come with me? I need to tell all of our Redwallers about this new threat to our Abbey."

The meeting broke up. Melanda and Armel headed for the kitchens to assist with the evening meal. As the strolled through Great Hall, Armel smiled at her daughter. "I can see your father in you, Melanda. You reminded me so much of him earlier when you assisted with the battle plans. Huh, I don't seem to be able to do anything these days to assist with the dilemma of war."

Melanda patted her mother's paw. "Of course you can, Mother. You're one of the most respected creatures in this Abbey; why don't you just be your cheerful self and perk up the Redwallers' spirits. That'll be what's needed most in the days ahead."

Armel smile was shining. "Thank you, you young flatterer. Now you head on down to the kitchens; I'll be there in a moment."

As she watched her daughter's receding form, Armel's smile faded. She shook her head sadly. Melanda, Redwall's youngest recorder in history, was about to be caught up in a war. The squirrelmaid's warrior blood was calling her, Armel knew, but all the same, she didn't want her daughter injured. She looked at the tapestry hanging on the wall, with Martin the Warrior's likeness woven on it. The mouse's strong, kindly eyes gazed out at the squirrelmum, giving her a feeling of strength.

Armel sighed and bowed her head slightly to the Warrior. "If it must be, Martin, it must be. But keep Melanda safe; I beg this of you!"

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Well, what did you think? Please REVIEW! I want to know what you think of it! I wasn't sure if Yoofus' accent was good, or if I did to well on the hares' accents. Please tell me what you thought of them!

_WOW! Two chapters in one day! I can't believe it!_ ;)

_Thanks for reading!_

_Foeseeker_


	24. An Evil Unmasked

23: Evil Unmasked

_23: Evil Unmasked_

The sun inched its way up over the western horizon. Its firey eyes gazed down on the land, iluminating the forests, lakes, beaches, rivers, plains, islands, mountains, and valleys. Its rays also pried their way into a small lean-to under an ash tree, awakening its occupant.

Lin sat up, yawning. Her eyes roved over her makeshift quarters. Like everything in the Foeseeker camp, the lean-to was patchy, rough, and crude. It was really only a few boughs with the leaves still on them propped against the tree trunk to provide some shelter from the elements. a few embers still glowed just outside, the reminents of last night's fire.

The squirrelmaid crawled out of the lean-to, dragging her haversack with her. Tossing a few twigs and pine needles onto the coals, she set about preparing breakfast. Using a flat stone as a table Lin mixed together ground acorns and water to make a dough. Throwing in a few pawfuls of berries and roots, she kneaded the mixture into four small loaves. She wrapped each of these in dockleaves and set them in the fire to bake.

As she filled traveling flask with water from the stream, Lin thought about Tam and the others. She wondered where they were, and hoped that they weren't worrying about her too much. Although she had no idea of how to escape without endangering Oakfur, she was confident that she could pull it off.

Oakfur. Lin recalled her new friend, smiling to herself as she stirred the fire. Oakfur had been so friendly, so afraid. The squirrelmaid half closed her eyes, contimplating his openess about his past. His pride in his tribal name. His frightened face as Slarave leaped on him. The squirrelmaid's face hardened. Whatever happened, she had to get her outcast friend out of this horrible place.

The loaves baked quickly on account of their size. Rolling them out of the fire with a stick, Lin mixed a few mint leaves into the hot water to make tea. She fished about in her haversack and pulled out a wrinkled apple, which she sliced and placed on a piece of bark.

As she began to unwrap one of the small loaves, Lin was startled by the sound of a cracking twig nearby. Glancing about, she strode toward a thicket of low bushes that grew close to her little camp. Parting the branches with her paw, the squirrelmaid peered down.

Three young squirrels, the eldest being about seven seasons and the youngest around three, sat crouching in terror at the warrior that loomed over them. The eldest, a female, protectively covered the other two with her body. The entire trio cringed in fear at this stranger with the fearsome axe.

Lin winced at the gaunt faces of the three youngsters. Their clothes were dirty, patched, and torn. All three looked undernourished, the exact opposite of Slarave the day before. The squirrelmaid's heart went out to them, so pitiful and weak, and yet so bold.

Lin gazed down at the three young ones. "What are you doing here, hiding in the bushes?"

The eldest of the three looked up at the young warrior. "Auntie Slarave said that you'd eat little 'uns. We wanted t' see if'n you'd eaten anybeast yet."

Lin chuckled dryly. "I don't eat anything but what you eat, young 'un. Here, join me." She gestured to the little fire. "You three look like you're chilled to the bone."

The second young squirrel, a male of about five seasons, piped up. "Aye, marm, Mama didn't make a fire 'dis mornin', so we dinna have breakfast either. Could Virgaini 'ave a piece o' bread?"

Lin's eyes widened. "You haven't had breakfast? Here, I have four rolls. You each can have one." The squirrelmaid unwrapped all four of the loaves, passing one to each of the youngsters. They tucked in eagerly. Lin nibbled on hers as she watched the trio.

The young female suddenly turned to Lin. "What's your name, marm?"

Lin smiled. "I'm usually called Lin, miss. And who are you three?"

The young squirrelmaid pointed to each in turn. "I'm Vantica, and these are me brother an' sister, Wrend an' Virgaini. Our mama's name is Rhulna an' papa's called Colnstad. We live over there." She pointed to one of the makeshift tents near the bank of the stream. A motherly looking squirrelmum was just exiting the structure.

Lin nodded in the squirrelmum's direction. "Is that your mama? I think she's looking for you three rascals."

Wrend, having finished his piece of bread, jumped up. He went running toward the squirrelmum, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Mama! Mama! Da new skerrl's nice an' she gave us breakkast!"

The squirrelmum turned and grabbed the young squirrel as he bowled into her. Holding him at arm's length, she cried, "Och, Wrendstas Foeseeker, just look at ye. 'Ave ye been swimmin' in mud? Off tae the stream wi' ye, and wash up!"

As the young squirrel scurried off, Lin came up with Vanica and Virgaini in tow. She smiled appolijeticly at the squirrelmum. "Sorry about that, marm. I found them hiding under a bush near my camp, so I invited them to join me. I didn't realize that –"

"Och, 'tis no problem, lassie. Though I'd be obliged if'n ye told me what that Slarave's keepin' ye here for. I've only heard the rumors."

Lin looked sharply at the squirrelmum. "Rumors? What rumors?"

"Nothin' for you tae get upset about, m' dearie. Och, listen tae me, chunnerin' on wi'out any manners. I'm Rhulna Foeseeker, the mother o' these three rascals." She turned in time to stop Wrend from tumbling into a pail of water. "Begone ye rogue, I thought ye were goin' tae was up. Step tae it, laddie!"

Lin quickly made friends with Rhulna and her family. The squirrelmaid chatted with the little group as she assisted them tidy their dwelling. Rhulna was a jolly creature, and Lin wished that the squirrelmum could be better off. The family was among the lower ranks of the society, and they received the bottom end of all the supplies. The upper classes, such as Slarave and her cohorts, were the first to obtain access to the food, firewood, and other nessasary materials. It all trickled down from there, the lower ranks getting the poorest quality items.

Rhulna told Lin more. The storhouses were bursting with food, but nobeast except Slarave and her cohorts had access to any of it until winter. Even then, the lower-ranking squirrels got the worst of the food. Rhulna and her husband Colnstad had once or twice contemplated rebelling against Slarave's rule, but they knew that anybeast who tried that would be punished severely.

Lin was funing by the time the squirrelmum had finished the tale. The squirrelmaid's bushy tail was bristling, and her eyes flamed with rage. "Such a creature doesn't deserve to be called a leader! Somebeast needs to take Slarave down a few notches, methinks!"

Rhulna smiled sadly. "several 'ave tried, Lin, an' they were punished cruelly. I wouldn't go near the savage fer seven seasons o' plenty, no I wouldn't!"

Lin drew her axe, her eyes narrowing into slits. "I've been through enough suffering that I don't care what happens to me. I'm going to take out that tyrant, and nobeast is going to stop me!"

Rhulna had seen some great warriors in her time, but never had anybeast spoken like this, with such confidence and authority. The squirrelmum aprehensively followed her young friend as Lin strode purposfully toward Slarave's tree.

††

Lin was nearing the tall pine in the center of the camp. Her eyes showed her fury and determination as she gripped her axe shaft.

"Halt! Nobeast is allowed near the pit!"

A pair of guards leaped in front of the squirrelmaid, barring her path with their spears. Lin, who was already broiling, whirled on them. "Get out of my way! I need to see Slarave!"

The larger of the two guards replied curtly. "Slarave gave strict orders to us to keep everybeast away from the pit. She's dealing with the traitor at the moment."

Lin frowned. "Traitor?"

The guard nodded. "Aye. That traitor Oakfur'll get what –"

"Oakfur?" Lin suddenly charged the two startled guards, knocking their spears aside. She whirled as they started after her. Her voice was a low, dangerous growl when she spoke. "I will deal with this alone. If'n anybeast tries to interfere, 'twil be their undoing!"

She turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving the two shocked, bewildered guards to their duties.

A crowd of squirrels surounded the tall pine. Lin, not wanting to be seen by any of Slarave's friends, manuvered her way up into a tree nearby. From there she leaped across into the whippy branches of the pine, climbing down until she could see what was happening.

The warrior blood of the squirrelmaid began to boil as she peered between the branches at the scene.

Oakfur was on his knees before Slarave, his head bowed. His paws had been tied behind his back, and it was clear that he had been beaten and mistreated. A thin line of dried blood ran across his cheek, and he had several other cuts and briuses on various parts of his body. His ragged tunic was in dissaray and his eyes were closed, apparently in submission to his fate.

Slarave stood at the base of the pine. The Foeseeker chieftain was dressed in a chain mail tunic with a white cloth bound about her brow. A loose green tunic was draped over the chain mail, and the four daggers were thrust into a brown crosswise belt. Slarave held a whip of knotted linen in one paw. The squirrel was grinning nastily as she circled her captive. "So, Oakfur, how does it feel to finally have justice brought on you?"

Everybeast was expecting Oakfur to just accept his iterrogator's words. Instead, the young squirrel raised his face and stared pircingly at Slarave. His voice was a mixture of pain, anger, and sadness as he spoke. "What have I done that deserves this treatment?"

Slarave maintianed her composure, but her tone flattened out to a deadly evenness. "You have betrayed our tribe to a complete stranger, who could have any intentions against us. what do you have to say to that?"

Oakfur kept eye contact with his tourturer as he replied. "She has no intention against us; she is one of us. She is our ally, and will save us if'n you give her a chance."

Slarave stepped toward him a pace. "Save us from what?"

Oakfur glanced down at the earth and drew a deep breath. Then he looked up and met Slarave's eyes. "You."

Slarave snarled at him, "You! I'll beat you until sunset for that, traitor!"

Oakfur gained confidence. His voice had a commanding ring in it as he adressed his tourturer. "You are the traitor here, Slarave, and we dare to call you our ruler! The one who should be our ruler is Lindenton Tarenta, the one you are persecuting!"

Slarave's face filled with anger. She leaped forward and began flailing the whip at Oakfur, striking him across the head and back as she shouted, "Traitor! Traitor! You are the traitor! The only traitor! Every blow you receive is justice for your betrayal of our tribe!"

"Oh, I don't know about that, Slarave. I think it's the other way around!"

The assembled squirrels gasped with surprise as Lin dropped out of the pine. The squirrelmaid's face was set in a tight, dangerous smile as she drew her axe. "Oakfur is right, Slarave. The only one here that deserves blows is you."

Slarave had leaped back in surprise when Lin appeared in front of her. Now she also drew her weapon; one of the four daggers stowed in her belt. She crouched and began circling Lin, snarling, "Surender now, Lin, and I'll make your death speedy. You're a threat to my authurity here, and you need to be disposed of!"

Lin flicked her axe. "I won't surrender, but I will chalenge you to a fight. If'n you win the fight, you can do to me what you wish. If'n I win, I become the leader of the Foeseekers. Agreed?"

Slarave balanced her dagger in her paw. "Agreed!"

Lin tossed a meaningful look in Slarave's direction. "Good. But first . . ." She spun around, he axe flashing through the air. The cords holding Oakfur's paws fell away. The young squirrel looked up at the warriormaid. She smiled. "Go free, my friend."

With a brief nod in acnowlegement of the gratitude in her friend's eyes, Lin turned to face Slarave. "Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to fight? Come on, let's have at it!"

Slarave let out an animal roar and charged the squirrelmaid, dagger held ready for a thrust. Lin sidestepped almost casually, and the angry Foeseeker squirrel went flying into the crowd. Lin lightly kicked her assailant's footpaw. "Don't try to eat the ground, let's see some real fighting!"

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd as Slarave stood up. Her face was twisting with hate for the squirrel in front of her. The Foeseeker squirrel twirled her dagger and threw it, in the hopes that it would strike Lin.

Clang!

The dagger riocheted off the axehead and flew upward into the pine boughs. Slarave was forced to jump aside as the blade came hurtling back down at her, burrying itself in the ground almost up to its hilt. Slarave scowled darkly. She drew another dagger and licked the blade meaningfully. "Now you will see how a real warrior fights, traitor!"

The two squirrels clashed, dagger ringing on axe. Slarave was panting, slashing wildly at Lin. The squirrelmaid, on the other hand, was merely parrying the blows rained on her, gradually fencing Slarave against the tree trunk.

Lin abruptly whirled her blade in a flashing arc, knocking the two remaining daggers out of Slarave's belt. A quick backswing disarmed the Foeseeker squirrel and sent her crashing backward into the tree. Lin smiled coldly. "Now what, Slarave? Surrender? Or die?"

Slarave didn't answer. Instead, she turned her head slightly and shouted, "Now, Frildric, now!"

Five squirrels leaped out of the croud. Each was bristling with weapons and showed their elite military training. They surounded Slarave, shoving Lin backwards with their spearbutts.

Lin gazed in contempt at the reenforcements. Then she sighed. "Tut, tut, cheating, are we? Then allow me to just do this . . ." She cupped her paws about her mouth and roared lustilly.

"Redwaaaallllll!"

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Well? What did you think? Please review! I love those things!

_I've been planning out the Redwall branch of the storyline, and I'm going to introduce some secret characters there soon . . . (snickers) but I'm not telling! :)_

_Now, I'm going to take a greak from everything else in this story and just focus on Lin. There's something that happens at the . . . okay, I need to be quiet or I'll give away the story!_

_Foeseeker_


	25. Pax and Plans

24: Pax and Plans

_24: Pax and Plans_

Rakkety Tam McBurl was no fool. When Lin did not appear at the appointed time, the border warrior gathered his four companions together for a consultation.

"Lin an' I had an agreement that she could go scouting until sunset. That was yesterday, an' I haven't seen hide or hair of 'er. I've already decided that I'm goin' to go look fer her, but what about ye lot? Are ye goin' to stay here, or'll ye come with me?"

Doogy answered immediately. "We should find 'er! 'Tis our duty!"

Tam nodded. "I thought ye'd say that. We have a big scoutin' task ahead of us, mates. Let's do it well!"

Redbud saluted. "Aye, sah, will do, wot!"

Shorelad scratched his ear. "But wot about when we do find her, sah? She's prob'ly bein' held captive by some blinkin' foebeast, wot!"

Tam smiled. The sword across his back glittered as he tapped his hilt. "We're all warriors. I think we can take care 'o ourselves, eh?"

Nobeast answered this. The answer was all too clear.

Without further argument the two squirrels and three hares set about their duties of breaking camp. The haversacks were packed, the fire extinguished with sand. Redbud and Crosow gathered stones and shells for their slings, while the other three tended to their blades. All was done in general silence, each creature thinking their own thoughts about the future.

When everything was ready, Tam slung his pack over his shoulder. "Well, let's get movin'." He fastened the end of their thin climbing rope to his paw. "I'll call when this rope's in place. Doogy, you'll follow up as a rear guard, just in case. Ye never know who's lurkin' about in the Northlands."

It was but a moment later when the border warrior's voice echoed down to Doogy and the hares. "Ye can climb up; the rope's secure."

They scrambled up the rope, one at a time. It took some time for them all to reach the clifftop, but they made it.

Tam was waiting for them. He beckoned them forward, speaking to each in turn. "Shorelad, I want ye an' Crosow to scout ahead of the rest of us. Report back if'n ye spot anythin'. Redbud, can ye act as a backscout, just in case those two miss anythin'? Doogy an' I'll be nearby, scoutin' from the treetops."

The haremaid nodded, casually twirling her sling. "That I'll do sah, never fear, wot!"

Doogy smiled. "Right, then let's get movin'. Can't be laggin' aboot, can we?"

The group split up. Redbud roamed through the trees, staying under cover as she studied each root and clump of moss. She was an excellent tracker and scout, like most of the Long Patrol hares, and could find a story where most would see ordinary woodland. Her keen eyes darted about, looking for any trace of her squirrelmaid friend.

Hours passed. The sun was high in the sky when Redbud heard pawsteps. She crouched, gripping her sling. She had no need to worry, however. Crosow came dashing through the undergrowth, an urgent look on his face.

Tam and Doogy, having heard the din of the hare's approach, came rocketing through the branches. Doogy leaped at the young hare, grabbing him and growling in his ear, "Be quiet, ye young fool! Ye'll bother everybeast in the Northlands! I hope nae foebeast is anywhere aboot!"

Crosow was panting from his speedy run, but he answered quickly. "I don't know about any flamin' foebeast, but I saw a big black squirrel with a spear standin' by a tree, wot! I hid an' watched 'im. He started chunnerin' to 'imself about a black squirrel with a blinkin' axe that somebeast 'ad jolly well taken captive, wot! I came back t' report as flippin' fast as I could, sahs."

Tam looked sharply at him. "Talkin' about a squirrel with an axe, eh? did ye see anybeast else around?"

Crosow shook his head. "No, sah. The only other jolly thing I saw was –"

"Ahoy chaps! Get ready to move fast, wot!"

Redbud spun around at the sound of Shorelad's voice. She shouted back, "What d' you mean? Are you being followed?"

Shorelad hove into view around a large elm. "No bloomin' beast is followin' me. I saw Lin."

Tam rushed forward. Grabbing the young hare by the shoulders, he exclaimed, "Where? Was she injured? How was –"

Shorelad held up his paws. "No time for that, wot! Lin's in the middle of a bloomin' fight with a black squirrel; haven't the foggiest idea why. Lin's holdin' her own, but she could use help, wot wot!"

Crosow, although worn out from his mad dash through the forest, set out in the direction from which Shorelad had come. "Let's get this flippin' fight over with, chaps. C'mon, Shorelad, old bean, lead the way, wot!"

The group dashed off through the trees, not even thinking of their own safety. They were determined to get their friend to safety.

Tam glanced at Doogy as they ran. "Any idea who these black squirrels are, mate?"

Doogy winked. "Aye, I've 'eard o' a tribe o' black squirrels in these parts. They're called Foeseekers, warriors who'll attack anybeast who's not one o' 'em. Sometimes they'll even pick on one o' their own. They're bloodthirsty hooligans, ye ken."

Tam gritted his teeth. "Sounds like we'll have our job cut our fer us then."

"Hush!"

Shorelad held up his paw, stopping so suddenly that Redbud almost ran into him. The hare peered about cautiously. "We're at the edge of the squirrels' camp." He pointed to a pine tree in the middle of the sea of tents. "Lin's under that tree, fightin' the other squirrel, wot!"

Tam looked grim. "Good trackin', Shorelad. Let's go help her."

Redbud's ears suddenly stiffened. "Did you hear that?"

††

"Redwaaaallllll!"

As Lin's shout died away, Slarave mocked her. "Redwall? What's that supposed to mean, may I ask?"

Another squirrel, one of the elite guard, snarled roughly, "It doesn't matter. She won't make another sound when we're done with 'er!"

Lin actually laughed. "D'you really think that?"

The squirrel looked puzzled. Slarave hissed at him, "Get her, Frildric you fool! Get her!"

The squirrel Frildric rushed at Lin, only to have his mouth filled with loam as the squirrelmaid sidestepped neatly, tripping him up with her axe handle. At almost the same instant, an answer to Lin's shout echoed around the camp.

"Redwaaaallllll!"

Rakkety Tam McBurl and Wild Doogy Plumm, backed by three Long Patrol hares, came charging into the circle of squirrels. Gasps and cries of shock and alarm echoed through the small crowd as the five warriors grouped about Lin, weapons at the ready.

Lin smiled. "I was wondering when you bunch were going to turn up. Couldn't resist a good battle, eh?"

Tam was the only one who had not drawn his weapon, knowing its tendency to shock his opponent with its simple, deadly beauty. He placed his paw on the hilt as he answered his young friend in the same wry tone. "Oh, we were enjoyin' our stroll when ye had to yell at us. why'd ye do it, eh? The enemy not worthy of yer attention?"

Lin motioned toward Slarave, her voice hardening. "This coward decided that I wasn't fit to look upon her, and got some of her fighters to attack me. It wasn't exactly a one-on-one fight, so I thought that I would call in some reinforcements of my own."

Doogy brandished his claymore, growling, "Sounds like a true vermin, lassie. Almost like yer vermin fellow, wotsisface, Groomyer!"

"Groomyer the Ruthless?!"

Lin was taken aback by the look in Slarave's eyes. Most of the Foeseeker squirrels stared at the squirrelmaid, a mixture of shock and fascination written on their faces. Lin looked back at them, equally astonished.

Slarave's voice cut through the squirrelmaid's thoughts. "Groomyer? He and his vile horde wiped out half our tribe! Where is he? We've sworn vengeance with that murderer!"

Lin found herself speaking aloud. "Then we should make peace with each other and attack our common enemy. We shouldn't be fighting each other like this."

Slarave dismissed her guard. "The maid speaks the truth. We shall arrange peace between us. come with me to the meeting tent. We shall settle terms there."

††

Lin, Tam, Doogy, and the three hares sat at one end of the semi-large meeting tent. With them was Oakfur, who had quickly become acquainted with Lin's companions. Opposite the group were Slarave and her cohorts. There was no tension in the air, contrary to Lin's expectations. In fact, everybeast seemed quite at ease.

Lin opened the discussion. "Slarave, tell me exactly what Groomyer did to your tribe."

Slarave gritted her teeth, a distant look appearing in her eyes. "It was like this. Our tribe was huge, numbering at about twelve hundred. We were split into three groups because of our numbers. There were roughly four hundred in each group, which was called a clan, and we spread out through the Northlands to balance out the number of creatures and the food sources.

"Well, six seasons ago, Groomyer and his horde landed on the northern shores to re-supply their food stores. One of the Foeseeker clans was camped there, and they opposed Groomyer. That murderous fox attacked them with his huge horde, wiping out almost three hundred of our creatures.

"Then he did something that is almost unheard of, even among warlords. There were two or three ill creatures aboard his ships. Apparently his healers said that it was a highly contagious disease, and that the ill ones should be killed or abandoned. Groomyer decided to use that to his advantage. He captured about a score of Foeseeker squirrels and chained them in the same cabin as the ill beasts. As soon as all the squirrels were showing signs of the disease, he released them. The poor squirrels arrived back in camp carrying the unknown disease. The entire clan was quickly infected, and every one of them became sick. A few recovered, but most did not.

"By then one of the other clans had gotten wind of what had happened, and they sent their warriors to attack Groomyer. The fox retaliated violently, killing many of our warriors through trickery. Then the Foeseeker warriors came upon their ill clanbeasts. As had happened before they were all infected, most dying. About a score of them recovered and returned to tell the tale, but our tribe had lost one entire clan and half of another, reducing our numbers to below six hundred. We were forced to join up into one huge clan, the one you see today."

There was silence as Slarave finished her tale. The Foeseekers were thinking back to that time when they lost so many friends and family members. Lin, Tam, Doogy, and the hares were thinking about how they would feel if half of their tribe was wiped out in a single season.

It was Slarave who broke the silence. "Now, tell me how you have come to know of Groomyer, Lin."

The squirrelmaid related the tale, leaving out nothing. When she finished, Slarave sat for several moments, thinking through the facts. Finally she spoke. "I think that we have been led together for a reason, Lindenton Tarenta. We Foeseekers have ships. They were given to us by a tribe of otters who captured them from various groups of corsairs. The illness that wiped out half of us also struck the otters, of who about a hundred survived. They decided to take one ship and sail south, as they didn't like the hostile climate of the Northlands. They gave the remaining five ships to us, saying that we would someday need them."

Lin was counting on her paws. She looked up at Slarave. "How many Foeseekers are still alive?"

Slarave whispered with her cohorts for a moment before she replied. "About thirty-two and a half score. Why?"

Lin did not answer this question immediately. "How many creatures can fit on the five ships?"

Again Slarave held a brief whispered conference with her group. Then she gave her answer. "Total, all five ships can carry thirty-seven score, give or take a few."

Lin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "So, that would mean plenty of extra room on the ships. Perfect!" She seemed about to continue with her statement, but abruptly turned back to Slarave. "Can your tribe sail the ships?"

Slarave seemed indignant. "Of course we can! The otters taught us how when they gave us the ships. In fact, we have an entire crew for each. Each crew has taken their ship out at least twice for fishing and scouting."

Lin nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Could you send the crews to bring the ships down to the caves on the beach? That would make an excellent place to prepare to sail."

Slarave nodded. "Aye, that I will do." She held out her paw. "Then it is peace, friend?"

Lin nodded. The two warriors shook paws as the squirelmaid declared, "It is peace!"

_

* * *

_____

The Foeseeker history is interesting and sad, no? I mentioned that the attack and resulting illness occurred "six seasons ago." That means about a season before Tarenta was taken over. Groomyer and his horde sailed from the Northlands almost directly down to Tarenta. They might have made o few short stops along the way, but they had just over a half season between the Northlands and Tarenta, so they had to hurry (somewhat). ;-)

_Please vote in the poll on my homepage. I've been debating this question with myself, and I think it would be good to see if it is popular._

_Please review! Even if you aren't a member of this site, please review! I'd really like to get eleven reviews on this chapter before I put up the next one, which would mean that I have 100 reviews. Yay! :-D_

_Foeseeker_


	26. Allies

25: Allies

_25: Allies_

The dagger pricked a little harder against Gareth's skin. The young fox gulped nervously. Then he decided to put all the cards down. Without turning, he growled, "What d'you want to know?"

The attacker pressed a fraction harder on the dagger. The voice was rough as the creature hissed, "Why did ya betray the slaves?"

Gareth didn't know whether to tense or relax. Not knowing this creature's intentions, he slid his paw toward the dagger in his belt as he replied. "I never betrayed them. I lied to my father. I'm not trying to harm the slaves; I'm trying to help them."

He suddenly snapped around, drawing his dagger as he did so. Quick as a flash he had his knee resting on the chest of a ferret, his dagger tickling its nose. He narrowed his eyes dangerously as he gritted out, "Why do you want to know this? Did my father send you?"

The ferret looked both shocked and startled for a moment. Then a slow smile spread over his features. "Gareth, mate, ya're a quick 'un. I never saw anybeast move like dat. 'Ow'd ya do it?"

Gareth twitched his tail, regarding the ferret. He continued to interrogate. "You never answered my question. Why do you want to know what I'm doing with the slaves?"

The ferret chuckled a bit. "Ya really want ta know, mate? Well, I've been given the duty o' keepin' an eye on ya, an' I saw ya talkin' ta yer pap, aye, an' 'eard what ya said. I jus' wanted ta know what ya was up to. As long as ya aren't betryin' th' slaves, we'll keep our paws ta ourselves."

Gareth eyed the ferret curiously. "You care about the slaves? And who are these others you speak of?"

The ferret winked roguishly. "Well, if'n ya really want ta know, I'll show ya. But ye'll 'ave ta let me up first!"

Gareth chuckled at the ferret's easygoing manner. He stood up, reaching a paw down to assist the ferret. "What's your name, mate?"

The ferret took the young fox's paw, leaping up easily and smoothly. He was young, about twenty-six seasons. His sandy fur was tipped with brown, giving it a multi-layered appearance. The tip of his long tail was dark brown, as if he had been dipped in mud. The tunic that he wore was that of an ordinary rank-and-file hordebeast; plain, patched, and well-used. It had apparently once been blue, but it was now so faded that it appeared to be a pale violet. The piece of thin rope that served him as a belt was frayed and dirty. His eyes were different from an ordinary ferret's, however. They were yellow, like a cat's, and were surrounded by a dark brown mask of fur, causing them to stand out like twin suns.

The ferret grinned cockily at Gareth. "I'm called Tippin, matey. Just an ordinary rank-an'-file corsair, 'sept 'ere." He pointed to his head, then his chest. "Me shipmates are in the game wid' me if'n ya wanna meet 'em."

Gareth nodded. "I certainly do. I was told in a dream to look for the others, and I think it was creatures like you that were meant."

Tippin looked astonished. His golden eyes widened in surprise as he murmured, "You dreamed o' us? 'Ow'd ya know?"

Gareth shrugged. "Don't ask, Tippin, I just know." He looked about, suddenly wary. "D'you know if'n any of my father's spies are about?"

Tippin flung himself upon the grass, feigning sleep. "Nope, none around, Gareth, matey. Two o' me pals took care o' that piece o' fishbait Zadi. Sent 'er off t' the other side o' the harbor, lookin' for ya."

Gareth laughed, prodding his new friend with his footpaw. "I thought you were going to take me to your friends, mate. C'mon, stir your stumps!"

Laughing together, the pair sauntered off toward the village.

††

Tippin knew every back alley and sideway like the back of his paw. With his help, Gareth found himself on the back step of a small hut near the slave compound. The young fox looked about. "Is this where you live?"

Tippin nodded. "Aye, me an' five o' me other mates. The rest live over there." He pointed to another hut, with the thatched roof beginning to sag, just across the path.

Gareth was about to say more, when Tippin opened the door and kindly pulled him inside. The young fox found himself inside a room that took up the entire first floor of the hut. In one corner, a ladder led up to the roofspace. Next to it was the front door, with a battered table directly in front. Three chairs, one with a splintered leg, were set about the table. Several blankets folded in a corner signified where the occupants of this hut slept. A fireplace near the back door was the room's only other adornment.

Tippin nodded a greeting the six lounging about the room. Then he pulled Gareth forward. "Mates, ya all know who this beast is. Well, 'e's on our side, tryin' ta 'elp the slaves. I think we should let 'im inta our little gang, wad'ya all say ta that?"

Quiet calls of enthusiasm greeted this announcement. Tippin grinned at the young fox. "Looks like ya're one o' us, Gareth. 'Ere, let me introduce ya."

In a quarter of an hour, Gareth went from being completely alone to having a small group of like-minded friends. There was Jistone, a grizzled searat who had seen more seasons then any other beast present. Gratch was another rat of about sixteen seasons. He was far shorter then a common rat, but his size made him an excellent spy and scout. Firrona, yet another rat, was a steady, quiet, easygoing female with a notched ear. There was Vittonae, a vixen with a red-gold coat and a pair of emerald-green eyes. Fritoll, a weasel, was a patchwork of snow white and satiny chocolate brown. His mate, Sallin, was a dusty-colored, wiry beast with a loud laugh and cheerful disposition. It was a small group, but one that showed a vibrant range of creatures and personalities.

After he had met every one of the six new creatures, Gareth turned to Tippin. "I thought you said that there were more of you. Are there any others?"

The ferret nodded. "Aye. Dere's four others, a rat, a weasel, an' two stoats. We're a small band, but we're strong." A few quiet grunts and grim smiles confirmed the remark.

Gareth turned back to the group. He was about to speak, when a stoat appeared in the front doorway. He waved his paw franticly, panting, "Zadi's caught on. She's headin' back o'er 'ere. C'mon, mates, let's git movin'!"

Tippin grabbed Gareth's paw. "Do as Rilfo says, matey."

Gareth managed to pant out as the ferret dragged him from the hut, "What's going on?"

Tippin replied without slackening his pace. "That ragbag Zadi 'as figgered out dat we sent 'er on a wild goose chase. She's comin' back ta the village, an' we don't wan' 'er seein' us together, as it might get 'er suspicious."

Gareth freed his paw from Tippin's vicelike grip. "I'll be off on my own, mate. Father'd be furious if'n he found out that I was meddling with 'commoners.' I'll meet you here tonight."

Tippin winked. "An' bring somethin' fer the slaves!"

_

* * *

_

Gareth's found his buddies! Yay! And they'll play a crucial part of the story later, as you can probably guess.

_REVIEW!! PLEASE!! I LOVE REVIEWS!!_

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_Thanks!_

_Foeseeker_

_P.S. I'm going to pester you about the poll until I decide one way or another, which will be around the time it would go into action in this story, so VOTE!_


	27. Thoughts Remaining

26: Thoughts Remaining

_26: Thoughts Remaining_

The supper that night was not the cheery meal that Abbot Humble had hoped it would be. The Redwallers had been told the news of the Muskars and otters. Most had taken it very hard, for the Muskars had visited Redwall several times before and had become good friends with many of the Abbey residents. The elders were also worrying about the vermin; what if they attacked? Redwall was hardly ready for any defensive advances.

Melanda was not hungry. She stood out on the ramparts, moodily studying the woodlands surrounding Redwall. Her thoughts were mixed. Her warrior blood was calling her to war, but her peaceful abbey life was questioning that heritage. She wondered if she could really fill her father's place in this time of crisis. Her pretty face creased in a frown of concentration as she mulled over her knowledge of the Seasons of the Savage and the bloodshed that took place. Did she really want to get caught up in something like that, she wondered?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of wings. She turned quickly in time to see Tergen the goshawk land neatly beside her. The hawk turned his face toward her, his gold-rimmed eyes glittering as he asked, "Yaakaaaa! Where Burl be, Melanda?"

Melanda smiled th herself at Tergan's pronunciation of Tam's name. She spread her paws expressively. "My father's not here, Tergen. He set out on a mission to the north some time ago. Oh, by the way, Sergeant Wonwill and Captain Fortindom want to speak with you."

Tergen clacked his beak in an annoyed fashion. "Raakaaa, Tergen wanted to see Burl, not wot woting harebeasts! But they have a job for me?" Without further ado, the hawk stalked off in the direction of Cavern Hole, muttering to himself, "Ha! Burl gone, what do harebeasts want, eh? prob'ly some berry picking trip 'gain, terchaaak!"

Melanda hurried to catch up with Tergen. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. There are dangerous vermin hiding in Mossflower, and the hares need you to find them."

Tergen turned his fearsome gaze on her. "Vermin, eh? where are they, you know?"

Melanda shrugged. "Wonwill and Fortindom know more then I do. They're in Cavern Hole if'n you want to talk with them."

Tergen nodded. "Yarrraaak! Melanda right. This bird go find harebeasts now!" The goshawk abruptly lifted his wings and flapped upward, gliding effortlessly across the Abbey grounds. His flight was smooth and even, showing no signs of the injuries he had sustained during the Seasons of the Savage.

Melanda turned back to face the woodlands. A cool breeze was blowing, causing her habit to ripple gently. A nightingale trilled its soft tune somewhere deep in Mossflower. Melanda caught up its tune, almost unconsciously singing along.

The sun sets now, my dear one,  
Come, lie down with me.  
The moon shines bright against the stars,  
And settles its rays upon thee.

Sleep well now, my dear one,  
Lay down your head and rest.  
The night shall give way to a new morn,  
But now the sun sets in the west.

Let your eyes close, my dear one,  
Let your dreams take wing.  
Sleep is the gift that moonlight brings  
While till morn I sing.

Melanda yawned sleepily. The nightingale had finished its song, and the woodlands were silent again. The squirrelmaid leaned against the battlements, her eyes flickering drowsily. Then she jerked herself up and started for the dormitories. She needed sleep to think through the questions that were plaguing her.

††

Wonwill, Fortindom, and several of the other Long Patrol hares were sitting with the abbey elders in Cavern Hole. The other Redwallers had gone up to bed or to the kitchens to help clean up. The small remaining group was talking quietly when a thumping sound on the stairs leading to Great Hall caused them to turn around.

Tergen appeared around the stone doorway. He was muttering and grumbling to himself, but brightened up when he saw Wonwill and Fortindom. "Yeeekaaa! Melanda squirrel say you harebeasts tell me 'bout vermin, eh? What news?"

Abbot Humble welcomed the goshawk warmly. "Tergen, old friend! We were wondering when you would turn up; 'tis good to see you again. Here, have this leftover Deeper'n'Ever pie while the hares tell you the news."

Tergen obliged with gusto. He dug into the pie while he listened to the hares explain what they knew about the vermin threat. Yoofus, who was sitting with them, added details to the story. The hawk listened patiently while the idea of him monitoring Yoofus during the vole's scouting trip was explained, nodding now and then in agreement.

When all had been said, Tergen added his piece. "Vole an' I work together. Good idea! I ask other beasts about Hooded vermin, too. Be good help! Yaaraaak!"

Yoofus toyed with his little dagger. "Captain Fortindom, when'll we start?"

The hare Captain thought for a moment. "Get a good night's sleep, both you chaps. You'll start tomorrow at daybreak. I'll talk to the Friar about rations for Yoofus, wot!" He winked at the indignant hawk. "Don't worry, laddie buck, you'll be comin' back to this blinkin' abbey every day, and you'll get your flippin' meals then. We'll also arrange for you to take fresh vittles to Mister Lightpaw. Sergeant Wonwill and I'll work out the details tonight. Dismissed!"

The hawk and watervole saluted and started for the dormitories, but ground to a halt at Sergeant Wonwill's best parade ground bellow. "An' h'I want to see you two scruffy, idle lumps h'in this room at dawn, d'ye here me?"

Tergen and Yoofus both saluted again, speaking in unison. "Yessir!"

Wonwill nodded. "Right, then. Off to the barracks with ye! H'I'll see ye both at dawn, wot!"

As the pair disappeared upstairs, Fortindom beckoned to Wonwill. "Sergeant, I'd like a word with you in the Gatehouse, wot!"

The two hares strolled casually through Great Hall. As they passed the tapestry, Wonwill noticed a lone figure standing underneath it. he nodded to Fortindom. "H'I'll be with ye in a tick, sah. Got some business to attend to, wot!"

Fortindom was about to protest, when he too spied the lone figure. He nodded silently and continued on toward the Gatehouse.

Wonwill walked silently up to the figure by the tapestry. He pawed at something in his belt as he tapped the creature's shoulder gently.

Armel spun around, startled. She relaxed when she saw Wonwill's craggy face smiling gently at her. She forced a quiet chuckle. "Wonwill! You startled me! What is it?"

The hare looked at his paws, his smile suddenly gone. "Just before he left Salamandastron, Tam gave me this. 'E told me to give it to ye when h'I saw ye, but I forgot about it until now, wot!" He drew from his belt a small dagger, pressing it into Armel's paw.

The gentle infirmary keeper looked at the tiny blade. Tam's Sgian Dhu. Her mind rushed back to the first time she held it . . .

_The border warrior smiled. "You can call me Tam. I'll get that sword for ye, Sister, but ye stay out of the way when we get back to the vermin camp. Here, take my little dagger, ye may need it."_

_Armel took the Sgian Dhu, which fitted her paw perfectly. "Thank you Tam. You may call me Armel."_

_Tam winked boldly at her. "Lucky me, I've lost a sister and gained a friend."_

Armel looked worriedly at Wonwill. "He – he will stay safe?"

Wonwill patted her shoulder. "Don't ye fret yourself, marm; that 'un would go through the fires at Hellgates to be back here with ye, wot! Don't ye worry about him; he'll be back here afore ye bloomin' well know it!"

He winked at her; then he started after Fortindom. Armel watched him go. Her mind was racing through past events as she ran her paws over the small dagger. Subconsciously, she tucked it into her sleeve, storing it safe for the future.

For what was to come.

††

Melanda fell asleep almost the moment her head touched her pillow. For some time, she raced through one dark dream-mist after another, searching for . . . she knew not what.

Finally, she saw a light ahead. Dashing through the dark, vaporous clouds, she found herself in a cave. There was no fire or other source of light, but Melanda could see clearly. There was something familiar about this cave, but she couldn't put her paw on it.

Before she could begin exploring, however, there was a burst of brilliant light. The squirrelmaid shielded her eyes from the radiant glare as she suddenly felt another creature nearby; somebeast powerful, mighty. She fell to her knees, still covering her face.

Something heavy descended on her shoulder. Next instant, a strong, friendly voice rang out. "Rise, young squirrel, and see your guardian."

Melanda slowly got to her feet, staring in wonder at the creature before her.

He was a squirrel, wearing a mirror-like breastplate of the finest steel. A sword not unlike Doogy's claymore was held easily in his paw. His face was traced with many scars, but they seemed to make him look even nobler. His eyes were of the richest brown, complimented by his strong, kindly face. Melanda felt an immediate kinship with him, this great warrior squirrel.

He studied her for a moment. Then he spoke. "You are a strong young maid. Yet you are divided within yourself. What do you think you should do?"

Melanda was startled by the question. She shook her head in puzzlement. "I believe I have two choices. One is to stand aside and let this impending war take its course without me. The other is to stand in the front lines and prove that I do not have warrior blood in me for nothing."

The squirrel nodded. "Aye, well spoken, Melanda McBurl. Now, which of these two choices do you think is the right one?"

Again, Melanda paused for a moment before she spoke. When she did, however, she knew somehow that what she said was what was needed of her. "I need to take up this cause with all the strength I can muster, to protect those whom I love and that which I love. 'Tis what I was born to do, what I was born to be."

The squirrel smiled proudly. "Aye. nobeast could have said it any better then that. You were born to be a gentle Redwaller in times of peace, but a strong, courageous warrior in times of war. Listen well now to what I say:

"Travel into the danger,

Never do waver,

Until you unearth

A jumper's berth.

There you must seek

What will protect the weak.

Use it well,

For, like the toll of a bell,

It calls to all

To protect Redwall.

"But hark to me! Of this meeting you must tell nobeast! Or it will bring tragedy and death to Redwall! You must also leave this object that I have spoken of in its place until I command you to remove it. You must find it now, however, for the knowledge of its location will prove invaluable to you in the future."

Melanda suddenly realized that he was leaving, for he stepped backwards with a completed air. She reached out a paw, about to question him further. He shook his head. "Not now, young maid. Someday we may talk further, but now I must leave you."

The dream began to fade. Melanda managed to call out only one question before it vanished altogether. "Who are you?"

That strong voice echoed through her head as she fell back into deep slumber. "I am your many times great-grandfather, your father's ancestor, Rocc Arrem."

_

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Okay, what did you think? Anyone recognize the name Rocc Arrem? If you're an avid Redwall fan, you should. PLEASE REVIEW!!

_Also, (I TOLD you I'd do this!) please check out the poll on my homepage/bio. The deadline for results is coming up fast, and you'll want to have had a part in the outcome, I'm sure. :-)_

_Sorry about the slow posting; I've been having . . . well, school, so stop complaining! We all have to have that! ;-)_

_Foeseeker_


	28. Plaited Threads

27: Plaited Threads

_27: Plaited Threads_

Melanda picked at the food in front of her. She normally had a healthy appitite, but this morning she was haunted by the dream of the night before. She tapped her fork upon the tabletop as she ran it through her mind. The name Rocc Arem kept jumping out at her; where had she heard it before?

Her train of thought was interrupted by Foremole Bruffy. The mole leader was telling a story to a group of dibbuns, who were listening with rapture.

"Yurr, an' ee squirrelmaid says to ee furret Kurda, 'Oi be th' one ee used to 'urt an' beat. Oi erscaped, an' naow Oi'm agoin' to kill ee."

Melanda's eyes widened. She leaped up, dashing past several startled cooks and abbeybeasts. Racing through Great Hall, down the steps, and across the lawns, she finally reached her destination; the Gatehouse. Dust flew everywhere as she flung the door open, creating air currents that spiraled upward toward the ceiling. As she grabbed at a volume on a tall stack of books she whispered fiercly to herself, "Triss! Trisscar Swordmaid! Her father was Rocc Arem! But how . . ?"

She trailed off as she opened the large volume. She had begun to read it two days before, until Yoofus' news of the vermin had dispersed her desires for leisurely reading. But before then she had uncovered something that was vital to her now.

Turning the yellowing pages to a thin ribbon bookmark, Melanda scanned down through the lines of neat, precise writing. Finding the place she wanted, she began to read.

††

_Extract from the writings of Brother Favarl, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country._

A squirrel arrived at our gates two days ago, a dashing young male called Ranscon. He said that he was merely passing through, but he had heard of Redwall's hospitality and desired a bed for the night. I spoke with him over supper, and he told me a very interesting snippet of information.

His great-great-great-grandfather had been Rocc Arem, who was also the father of Trisscar Swordmaid, the first and only female wielder of Martin's sword. Ranscon told me that Triss had been about a season old when the pure ferrets and their rats conquered her people. Her mother, Darrisca, somehow managed to escape capture, fleeing into the Northlands. Believing that Triss had been killed in the battle, she settled in with a group of traveling players and soon gave birth to a child. This young squirrel, a male, was the exact image of Rocc Arem, his now-dead father. Apparently Darrisca had become pregnant shortly before her husband was killed.

This young squirrel, named Arrocc after his father, grew into a respectable tradesbeast in the north, although he was feared by evil creatures as a spectacular swordsbeast. He married and had a daughter, from whom Ranscon was descended.

My new friend left yesterday, saying that he had to carry on south. He promised that he would visit on his way back north, and left me with these words:

"Though time may pass and seasons turn,  
I will not forget this place.  
The memory of its stones will run through my blood,  
To one who will follow as one of my race.  
This one will do what my kin did before,  
As a great one, known to all.  
Power will pass from first to last,  
As will the memory of Redwall."

This strange friend of mine has me confused beyond thought, but perhaps someday somebeast will unravel this strange riddle. May the seasons bless Redwall and protect all goodbeasts everywhere.

_Brother Favarl, Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country._

††

Melanda took a deep breath as she leaned back in her chair. A smile played about her face as she easily deciphered the rhyme. "Father; the descendant of Rocc Arem and Ranscon, warrior of Redwall like his kin Triss. Who else could it be?"

She stood, a glint of determination in her eyes. She began muttering to herself as she placed the book on a shelf. "Next to figure out what that riddle means. I can't tell anybeast about it, so that'll make it twice as hard!"

She left the Gatehouse and returned to Cavern Hole. Her meal, a small amount of raspberry flan, some sage-studded cheese and a honey scone, had not been disturbed. The young recorder took her plate and went to sit with her two friends, Sister Mimsie and Flaxa the haremaid. The trio sat chatting together as they munched their breakfast.

Slster Mimsie, older then the other two by at least five seasons, quickly picked up the issue of the impending war. "As you two are both trained in the art of battle, I ask your opinion on a paticular subject. What do you think about this rumored threat of these Hooded Host creatures?"

Flaxa took a sip of strawberry cordial, and then proffered her answer in full hare style. "Those bloomin' rotters sound plenty real to me, an' I think they'll come marchin' to the flippin' abbey if'n we don't do something about it, wot!"

Melanda was a little slower with her response. An idea was forming in her mind as she finally spoke. "Well, I agree with you, Flaxa. These vermin are definitely real, and we need to do something about the treat they impose. But we don't know anything about them; their numbers, their fighting techniques, even what direction they lie in."

Skipper, who happened to be standing nearby, broke in on their conversation. "Yoofus says that the vermin are situated in a southeasterly direction, although he isn't able t' give any details."

Melanda smiled gratfully at him. "Thank you, Skipper. Now that you mention it, I remember Yoofus telling us that. do you know anything else about this Hooded Host?"

Skipper shook his head. "Nay, miss. If'n ye want to know more, I'd ask either the Volethief, Captain Fortindom, of Sergeant Wonwill. They'll know more 'n me."

Melanda grinned to herself as she thanked the otter chieftain again and turned back to her friends. She reached for her scone only to find it gone. The squirrelmaid looked up sharply, sending a mock glare in Flaxa's direction. The haremaid waved the scone cheerily in Melanda's face. "Can you get it, wot? Let's see you try!"

Mimsie, usually a calm, quiet creature, doubled over in laughter at the sight of Melanda chasing Flaxa around Cavern Hole. She followed the pair's progress about the room with amusement, bursting into a new round of laughter every time somebeast got in the way of one or both careening creatures.

Melanda gritted playfully at her mischievous friend, "Give me the scone and I'll spare you a dunking in the pond!"

Flaxa leaped behind a column. "What if'n I scoff it an' save you the trouble, wot?"

Melanda leaped around the column, only to find Flaxa behind her, waving the scone and grinning. "Tisk tisk, miss, you need to watch your bally back, otherwise some flippin' ferocious creature could come up behind you, such as a horrible, hungry hare, wot wot!"

Melanda began snickering, but was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and saw her mother behind her. The squirrelmaid stifled her laughter enough to exclaim, "Mum! I didn't hear you behind me! Do you need me for something?"

Armel smiled inwardly at her daughter's innocent antics. She crossed her arms and attempted to look stern as she replied. "Aye, I'd like you to go gather some herbs for me. I need to stock up on several wild plants before we have any vermin attacks, and now is better then never."

Melanda instantly saw her chance. Her agile brain was already at work as she answered, "I certainly will!"

††

Melanda pushed deeper into Mossflower, being careful not to spill her basket. She glanced down the list of herbs Armel had given her. She mentally ticked them off as she read through them. Dockleaves, marigold seeds, elm bark, dogtooth violets. All were stowed safely in her basket. Now that this task was finished, she could focus on other matters.

Melanda settled the basket on her arm and turned toward a tall oak tree that stood nearby. She had set out from the southwestern corner of Redwall's outer ramparts, and had traveled in that same direction until she found the tree. It towered over the surrounding trees, and Melanda had no difficulty in finding her way back to it now.

She turned to face southwest. Her excitement mounted as she wove her way between the tree trunks, ever on the alert for any sign of danger. Nothing showed itself, however, and she continued without any disturbance whatsoever.

The sun continued its never-changing course through the sky. Melanda, who had brought a few oatcakes along for her midday meal, wasn't in the least hungry, but she was beginning to wonder if she was headed in the right direction. All her doubts were washed away in an instant, however, when she suddenly walked into an open glade. A small hillock rose in the center, and upon this grew a massive pine, its branches knarled with age. Melanda instantly knew, somehow, that this was the place she was looking for.

But how to find the mysterious treasure?

Melanda placed the basket on the ground and began to search about for any sign of a hidden object. At first nothing revealed itself. Then she noticed that the roots of the huge pine seemed to form the framework of the hillock that it grew on. She began exploring these, peering into every hollow and crevice in an attempt to find something, anything.

Finally, as she was examining one section of the small hill, Melanda noticed a flat, smooth stone that rested between two of the thick roots. She scrambled over and examined it. It was a weatherworn sandstone slab, almost the same color as Redwall's stone. Something had apparently been written there at one point, but time had eroded it until it was as smooth as silk.

Melanda tugged at it, in hopes that it would reveal something. To her surprise, it loosened and fell away from its position between the roots.

The squirrelmaid gasped with surprise as a cave entrance was revealed.

Her first reaction was to spring backwards, in case any danger exited the dark cavern. But there was neither sight nor sound of anything within. Gradually, one pawstep at a time, she entered the cave and looked about.

Although their full majesty was not visible in the dim light, Melanda could instantly see that the carvings on the cave walls were of excellent quality. Mice, squirrels, otters, moles, shrews, hedgehogs, and vermin danced about the stone chamber. Each was chiseled out in its own lifelike pose, weaving some tale of bygone days that was perhaps forgotten in the pages of history.

Melanda was at first dumbstruck; then she began to explore. Her paws traced the intricate figures, wondering about what they stood for. Each carving was new to her, for she had never seen such workmanship as these. Her eyes darted about the small cavern, exploring every possible hiding place for a hidden object.

Melanda's roving gaze finally came to rest on one carved figure that seemed set apart from the others. It was not carved into the stone, but into one of the roots that broke through the stone here and there. This figure was covered in some clear, golden substance that Melanda didn't immediately recognize. However, she felt drawn to that spot by some relentless power. She placed her paw upon the image.

A brilliant starburst exploded in her vision, followed by merciful blackness.

_

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Do you like my cliffhanger? Yes, I left you at a nice high climax here. Enjoy! (hahahaha!)

_Please review and tell me if you thought this was too choppy. I wasn't sure about it, but it's 11:45 pm and I really should have been in bed an hour ago, so my brain's not functioning correctly._

_Sorry about the sluggish posting, but I had a world culture project due this week and I had to type up a nice long paper on it, and do a creative project. (I really am getting good at the excuses, aren't I?)_

_Don't forget about the poll!_

_Again, please review!_

_Foeseeker_


	29. Prisoner

28: Prisoner

_28: Prisoner_

Melanda groaned. She could feel consciousness slowly seeping back into her body and with it came pain. Terrible pain. Her head felt like it was splitting in half. Without stirring, the young squirrelmaid could feel a large bump on the back of her head.

Gradually the past events sifted back into her memory. She remembered the cave, remembered examining that one carving. Then everything had gone black. She guessed that somebeast had struck her over the head, and she mentally berated herself for letting her guard down.

Without opening her eyes, Melanda tried to take stock of her surroundings. She was laying on something somewhat soft, perhaps straw or dry grass. It wasn't fresh, judging by the musty odor that emanated from it. The air felt close, signaling a small room or building. The squirrelmaid could hear breathing close by. Then something damp touched her forehead, moving gently across her face. Melanda decided that this was a friend, not an enemy, considering the way they were treating her.

Curiosity overcame her thoughts of caution. Opening one eye slowly, she found herself in a small, windowless chamber. The light was dim, but by that faint light she saw the creature sitting next to her. A strange mixture of thoughts, the least of them not being fear, rushed through her mind.

It was a squirrel like herself, but there the similarities ended. This creature was grotesquely twisted, the spine curving painfully to one side. The shoulders were off-kilter, one being almost a pawswidth higher then the other. The creature was also stunted, being much shorter then it should have been. There was something strange about his face, but Melanda couldn't tell what it was in the dim light.

The young squirrelmaid was about to jerk away from this misshapen creature's paw, which was bathing her face with a ragged piece of cloth, when the creature spoke. To Melanda's shock, the voice was not that of an old hag, but that of a young male; friendly, cheerful, and full of life. "So you finally woke up? Those vermin knocked you out pretty well, said you've been out for two days. Huh, 'tis a good thing I suppose, since you only arrived here a short while ago."

Melanda stared into the squirrel's eyes for a long moment, unable to speak from shock. Finally, questions found their way to her tongue, and she found her voice. "Where am I?"

The creature smiled. Melanda was astonished at the friendliness in his manner. "You're in the third slave house in the stronghold of Valamarus. I'm Meekayael."

Melanda sat up. "I'm Melanda. Tell me, how did you come to be so . . ." She trailed off, but Meekayael understood what she meant to say. He gestured to his misshapen body, shrugging. "I was born like this, I suppose. I can't remember a time that I wasn't like this."

Melanda felt a growing pity for Meekayael. "Does it . . . hurt?"

He nodded. "Aye, it does. I've accepted it as my fate, and I've learned to ignore the pain most of the time." His face looked troubled for a brief moment, but it passed.

Melanda was about to continue the conversation when she heard pawsteps. The next moment the door of the tiny chamber was flung open, revealing three vermin, all with cruel sneers on their faces. The apparent leader, a rat, snarled at Meekayael, "What'r ya doin' 'ere? Git back t' yer cell!"

Meekayael shrank back in fear. Melanda felt a rush of anger. She snarled back at the rat, "Go and boil your ears, mangy brute!"

The rat's eyes flamed. He darted forward and grabbed Melanda by her habit, snapping an order to his two followers. "Git out th' cuffs. This'n needs ta be delivered in style!"

The pair, a ferret and a stoat, entered the tiny room, each carrying a pair of manacles. Melanda tried to fight them as they fastened them around her fore and footpaws, but the rat threw her down and pressed a dagger against her chin, growling, "One wrong move, mizzie, an' yer dead!"

Once she was firmly secure, the trio forced Melanda upright. The shackles on her footpaws were held together by a chain, which was just long enough for her to take slow, shuffling steps. The ferret and stoat prodded her forward with their blades while the big rat called to a nearby vermin, "Git dat snivelin' slave back t' 'is cell. Move it!"

Melanda managed to glance over her shoulder at Meekayael as the guard dragged him out. The young squirrel looked calm, composed, as if this happened every day. It made Melanda shudder. What was the treatment of goodbeasts it this place?

She soon found out.

††

Melanda found herself in a place not unlike Redwall's Great Hall but it was much more imposing. The walls were covered with tapestries and wall hangings that depicted all manner of evil deeds. At one end of the huge hall was a kind of dais, with a throne carved out of solid stone resting at its highest point. This throne was flanked by six guards, three on each side and upon it sat a beast so large and powerful that it was evident at once that he was the ruler of this evil place.

The huge grey and tan-striped wildcat was garbed in only a chain mail tunic of iron, with a snakeskin belt about his waist. Into this was thrust a mace and chain, the iron ball at the end of the chain bristling with lethal spikes. A necklace of teeth hung about the wildcat's neck, and his eyes glittered cruelly over his deadly, snow-white fangs. Upon his brow rested a simple crown of bone, set with emeralds and rubies. This was Malus Deathclaw, Rexamor of the southeastern woodlands!

The squirrelmaid was forced to kneel before the wildcat. Her three escorts stood to attention before their Rexamor. For several moments, silence reigned in the massive hall.

Then Malus stood. Melanda shuddered as he spoke with a voice that echoed and reechoed through the hall. "Why do you bring this treemouse before me, Feelsh?" He emphasized the word "treemouse," spitting it out with revulsion and distaste. Melanda suddenly wanted to rake her claws across his face.

Feelsh, the ratguard beside the squirrelmaid replied in a cowed voice. "O Mighty One, dis is a new slave dat we brought afore ya for judgment."

The monstrous wildcat stood and approached Melanda. A cold shiver ran down the squirrelmaid's spine as he flexed his claws, purring in a dangerously soft voice, "Two choices are open to you, treemouse. Join my horde and swear allegiance to me, fighting alongside me and my creatures. Or, you could choose the life of a slave, bending your back to the lash. Which will it be?"

Melanda curled her lip, openly showing her distain of the wildcat. "Why would I serve one who only lives for evil? I will never serve you, cowardly kitten!"

Malus' eyes blazed, but otherwise he remained impassive. He only motioned to the three guards, dismissing them with a few words. "Take her away; you know what to do."

The three saluted. Next moment Melanda was unceremoniously grabbed and dragged away to a side chamber. The squirrelmaid struggled, but the ferret guard kicked her viciously in the ribs, knocking the wind from her.

A vixen and a ratwife met them in the chamber. As her three guards dropped her to the floor, Melanda noticed two things. One was that a table stood in the middle of the room, covered with what looked like a tangled pile of rope. The other was that the vixen had a damp rag in her paw.

Before she could react, Melanda's guards pinned her to the floor. The ratwife and the vixen pressed the rag to the squirrelmaid's nose. Instantly, Melanda felt herself going limp. Within moments she was in a kind of stupor, not unconscious, but unable to do anything. She watched in horror as the group of vermin proceeded gleefully with their task.

The rat Feelsh picked up the pile of tangled rope, which Melanda could now see was a network of straps cunningly fastened together. Feelsh examined the set he had chosen and motioned to the other four, rasping, "Stan' 'er up. Querktail, ya 'elp me git dis on 'er."

Melanda was roughly jostled upright. She watched in helpless horror as Feelsh and Querktail, the ratwife, fastened the network of straps round her body. Two straps crisscrossed each other across her chest, connecting to a strap at her neck and a strap at her waist. Two more crisscrossing straps were fastened across her back. She tried to reach back and strike the ratwife, who was fastening the straps firmly, but the vixen held the rag to the squirrelmaid's muzzle again, forcing her back into the semiconscious stupor.

Feelsh went back to the table, picking up the other web of straps; it was quickly identifiable as a halter of sorts. He approached Melanda, holding it against her head. The rat forced the back strap of the halter over the squirrelmaid's ears, arranging it so that the entire thing fitted securely against her skull. Taking two straps that had been set apart from the others, he fastened them to the halter, one against the back of her head, and the other under her chin. Then he attached them to the strap that fitted loosely against her neck, effectively securing the halter on her head.

The five vermin surveyed their work. The vixen nodded toward Feelsh. "Yew goin' ta take 'er back ter th' rows?"

Feelsh nodded. "Ya. C'mon, yew two."

Melanda was picked up again by her three guards. The vixen held up a paw. "Wait." She picked up another rag, pressing it under Melanda's nose as before. This rag smelled faintly of rotten leaves, and Melanda instantly passed out.

She awoke in another one of the tiny, windowless rooms. A pile of straw was under her, but she ignored it for the moment. Her mind fast clearing, she inspected the harness and halter. They were firm, just loose enough not to be painful, but far too tight for there to be any chance of slipping out of them. Melanda tugged angrily at the halter. She felt like some dumb beast, being treated like this.

Then she had a horrible shock. The halter and harness were not made of grass rope, or of leather, as she had thought. The squirrelmaid shuddered as the realization struck her.

They were made of fur.

Melanda tore at her strange bonds, shuddering as she thought of the creatures who had died to make this repulsive thing. Each one of the individual hairs in her halter seemed to dig into her face. She tried to lean down and bite one of the straps on her chest, but the single strap on the back of her head prevented her from doing so.

Frustration, loneliness, weariness, and the stark realization of her utterly hopeless position caused Melanda to break down. She flopped down on the straw, tears flowing from her eyes, as, for the first time since her Dibbunhood, she gave herself over to uncontrollable sobbing.

_

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_

Poor Melanda! She's really having a hard time, isn't she!

_The ages of the new characters:_

_Meekayael 18 – 20_

_Malus 35 – 37_

_Feelsh 40 – 45_

_Querktail – 45 - 50_

_Can anyone see the Latin words I threw in here?_

_Just in case anyone was confused with that harness and halter thing, I'll clarify here. They look like rope, but they're made of animal fur (mice, squirrels, moles, otters, vermin, etc.). For the halter, just try to imagine a horse's halter shrunk and put on a squirrel. It's not loosely fitting, but presses lightly against the skin, on firmly enough that it won't come off without being cut._

_The harness has two "body loops," one around the waist, and another around the neck. The waist one is snug, but the neck one is loose, so that it flops over the shoulders. A pair of straps forms an X across the chest, fastened to these two body loops. That also goes for the back; there's another X there._

_The halter and harness are connected by two straps. One is fastened to the rear strap of the halter to the neck body loop, preventing the beast wearing it from getting their chin against their chest. The other is shorter, running from the chinstrap of the halter to the neck body loop of the harness. This keeps the wearer from raising their head fully._

_If this still sounds confusing, e-mail me. I'll try to clarify._

_Again, don't forget the poll! :-)_

_Foeseeker_


	30. Preparations

29: Preperations

_29: Preparations_

Lin stood, wiping sweat from her brow as she surveyed the task she had just helped to complete: the repaired galley of the _Dawn Queen_, the Foeseekers' flagship. The largest of the seven ships, it also had two galley decks. One of the Foeseeker squirrels had come up with the brilliant idea of turning the galley benches of each ship into storage cupboards and beds. First, however, every single one of the original benches had to be removed for they were moldy, damp, and rotting, as the ships had never really been tidied and repaired before.

A crew of carpenters had constructed the new benches. They looked more like boxes, for the backs and fronts were closed in, the ends that were to face the middle isle being turned into doors to access storage space underneath. The seats of the benches had a second board on top of the actual base, which was hinged to the base with leather or cloth. Each bench had a lip or groove cut into its back, so that the hinged board of the bench behind could settle there and turn the bench into a bed. It was actually an ingenious idea, and turned the formerly inhospitable and almost unusable galley into a comfortable, homelike place.

The oar holes were left open, to allow for air and light to enter. Oars were stored on racks near the galley ceiling, in case of an emergency. Each was held securely in place with rope, to ensure the safety of the creatures beneath. Nonetheless, they could be removed from their storage within a few quick moments. This was tested several times, as one never knew what might happen on the high seas.

Despite the immense size of the galleys, they could only hold so many creatures. Because of this, the cabins in the upper levels were also cleaned and repaired, to be used by the larger families or groups of two or three smaller families. The bunk room that had originally been used by the vermin crew was set aside for storage and any overflow of creatures from the cabins and galleys.

Each ship received exterior repairs as was needed. One ship, the _Seafoam_, had to have almost its entire hull replaced, as the timbers were so soggy and barnacle-clogged that it was almost impossible to sail. Others, such as the _Dovecloud_ and the _Forthright_ had to have their tillers replaced, a time-consuming task. All the ships had their sails patched and repaired, their ropes and lines checked for soundness, and their anchors inspected. Every precaution that could be thought of was taken, for nobeast knew exactly how long the voyage was to be.

Food was also a topic of concern for many, as the Foeseekers were not known to have plentiful supplies. These fears were quickly dispelled, however, when the stockpiled resources were unpacked. Foraging parties were also sent out to gather what food they could find, while crews of squirrels could be seen constructing and mending fishing nets for the journey.

Lin had personally seen to the individual preparation of each family. Depending on the size of the family, they were to be assigned a certain bench, benches, or cabin aboard a particular ship. Each family was to receive a daily ration of victuals, and each creature, if they were over the age of seven seasons, was to be assigned a job to do, ranging from entertaining the young ones to the rugged tasks above deck.

Lin grinned at the half score squirrels beside her. They stood exhausted but proud, surveying their work. The young squirrelmaid, who was now a joint leader of the Foeseekers along with Slarave, allowed them their moment of revelry. For they had done an excellent job. Every nail was firmly in place, and every bench was ready for its occupants. A faint odor of pine resin, which had been used to seal the ship's hull, filled the galley, giving it a present aroma.

Lin finally broke the proud silence with a smile. "Excellent work, all of you! I hope that all this'll serve us well on our journey."

A male in his middle seasons, Colnstad, replied cheerfully. "After all th' work we spent 'ere, lass, I'd be very disappointed if'n I 'ad t' 'old this ship t'gether with me own two paws durin' a storm!"

Laughter rippled through the group as they cleaned up their remaining tools. Lin assisted them, chatting merrily with the group as they climbed up to the top deck. Her relaxed manner with the group, and theirs with her, would never have told a passerby that the squirrelmaid was becoming a major leader among the Foeseekers.

Lin had taken to Foeseeker society like a duck to water. She had helped organize the tribe, spreading out resources more evenly among the commoners, but keeping the upper class squirrels happy by giving them leading tasks such as supervising the packing of the ships, a difficult undertaking.

Oakfur met the squirrelmaid as she climbed onto the _Dawn Queen's_ deck. The young squirrel had changed since Lin had met him. He seemed much more confident, more sure of himself. He was still looked down upon by many members of his tribe, but just having a real friend seemed to have lifted his morale. Tam, Doogy, and the three hares had taken to him immediately, and he was now one of the "family of the road."

The young squirrel took the tools Lin was carrying, tossing them into a small boat that was being used to ferry things from ship to shore. He winked at his friend. "So, the _Dawn Queen_ is ready to load?"

Lin nodded, smiling. "Aye. We just finished putting in the benches, and the oars are all in place. The only thing that needs doing is putting the sails back up on the masts. Are those finished?"

Oakfur nodded. "Rhulna just sent word that they've finished all the sails, and if'n they gather any more vittles, the ships'll sink. Everything's waiting in the caves to be loaded up."

Lin grabbed her friend's paw. "C'mon then, let's go see what we can do to help."

As they headed for shore in the little boat, Oakfur looked at his friend. "You're thinking again." It was not a question.

Lin nodded, her previously merry face now creased with worry. "Aye. I'm worried about what we'll find when we do reach Tarenta, if ever. Think about it; all we have to go on is a poem, which we believe will lead us to Volkendo. But why Volkendo? It could be any island, really." In frustration, she banged her paw on the side of the boat. Her eyes flashed and she seemed about to say more, but then she stopped.

Oakfur placed his paw on hers. "There's more."

Lin shook her head unwillingly. "No, there's not."

Oakfur gave a faint smile. "Yes, there is. Come on, tell me; what's really bothering you?"

Lin sighed. She dipped her paw into the foaming water, allowing it to splash up her arm. "It's my brother, Jome. I don't know whether he's alive or dead, free or enslaved. I don't know whether any of my clanbeasts are alive, for that matter. It – it sometimes seems so hard to hold onto my hope that I will see them again alive someday."

Oakfur nodded sympathetically. Words were not needed. For several long, peaceful moments they sat there together, listening to the splash of the rowers' oars. The rolling, thundering surf reached their ears as a distant rumble, the midnoon sun flashing off the breakers. The call of a lone seagull could be heard to the north. Peace reigned between the two young squirrels.

Then Oakfur spoke abruptly. "Lin, look at me."

Lin, startled, turned to face him. "What is it?"

Oakfur pointed south. "Can you see that tall sycamore, at the edge of the cliff? See how it holds that part of the cliff together with its roots?"

Lin, still confused, nodded. "Yes, why?"

Oakfur kept his eyes on the sycamore. "Hope is like that, Lin. It stands completely alone; it is the one thing that keeps us from death. Without hope, why would we live? We would have nothing to live for. Sometimes, hope may seem dead, like a sycamore in winter. But it is always there, just under the tough outer bark, the actual living tree. Keep your sight on hope, Lin, and you will never loose faith."

Lin closed her eyes, a small smile creeping over her face. "Thanks, Oakfur. I needed that."

††

Night had fallen on the Foeseeker camp. Rakkety Tam McBurl gazed about at the gathering of squirrels with approval. His eyes flickered from a group of youngsters playing with a grass ball to the roaring bonfire in the center of the clearing. He smiled when he saw Lin standing near the flames, talking merrily with several other squirrels about her age. The borderer shook his head in wonder. His young charge was fitting into the Foeseeker society very well.

Lin glanced over the gathering, catching Tam's eye. She broke away from the group of young squirrels, dashing towards the tall red squirrel. She pulled up as she approached, her eyes laughing. "Tam, why don't you join us? This is our last night before we set sail, you know."

Tam leaned casually against the tree next to him. "I know, Lin. I was just thinkin' about ye."

Lin looked sharply at him, noticing the merry twinkle in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Tam began to smile. "Well, the leader of their tribe usually gives a speech afore the tribe starts a long, difficult journey."

Lin took a sharp breath. "You don't mean . . . me? Talking to all these squirrels?"

Tam nodded. "Aye. what's wrong wi' that?"

Lin groped for words. "Well, I just . . . I couldn't do it!"

Tam smiled broadly. "Oh, couldn't ye? I thought I could ne'er take up Martin's sword an' become Redwall's champion. Well, I am, an' 'ave been for twenty seasons now. Why can't ye just say a few words to these Foeseekers? Just give 'em somethin' to mull over durin' the trip. Explain why ye're doin' this, an' ask 'em for their help. That always gets a goodbeast motivated."

Lin flicked her tail, considering what Tam had said. She touched her axehead. "Perhaps I will. That would help . . ." She trailed off, thinking hard.

Tam was about to go into a long explanation, but Lin abruptly burst out laughing and raced away. The border warrior couldn't help but smile; his young charge was so full of life and energy. He set off to circle the camp, in hopes of finding Doogy.

Lin arrived near the bonfire, panting slightly and laughing. Her merry eyes flickered over the squirrels gathered nearby. She could put names on many of their faces. Reyknolf, Nyka, Gerrit, Vinder, Brimv, Allcona, Darci, Mirrick, Elmbrush, Havron, Maripaw, and may others. Lin was not looking for these, however. She was searching for one face in particular.

She finally found Oakfur sitting somewhat apart from the other squirrels, outside the ring of firelight. The young squirrelmaid trotted over to him. "Oakfur, what are you doing over here? I thought you would be with the rest of the Foeseekers."

Oakfur sighed, not unhappily. He leaned back on the ground, so that he could see the stars peeking through the trees. He didn't speak for several moments, but when he did his voice was not sad, just calm. "I'm an outcast, Lin, you know that. I've learned that solitude can be just as satisfying as being with others of my tribe. Oh, it is nice to have company sometimes. But when you're trying to make a big decision, or just need some peace, a bit of solitude works wonders."

Lin chuckled and threw herself down next to him. "You sounded just like my father then; he always talked like that."

For some time they simply lay there, gazing up at the stars. The sound of crickets chirping in the grass, combined with the distant song of a lone bird, was like the music of the nighttime woodlands. A breeze rustled the leaves, and the babbling of the nearby stream filled the night with sounds. The noise of the Foeseeker squirrels was the only thing that threatened to drown out the wild sounds, but the two young squirrels were oblivious to the noise.

Lin finally stood, brushing a leaf from her long tunic. Oakfur looked up at her. "Where're you going, Lin?"

The squirrelmaid seemed to be staring piercingly into the distant woodlands as she replied. "It's time."

Oakfur, completely puzzled, rose and followed her into the camp. Except she did not go directly into the camp. She went to a conveniently situated stone, which was about the size of a small table, at the camp's edge. Climbing up on it, she simply stood, gazing out over the crowd of squirrels.

Oakfur understood then. He moved inconspicuously into the crowd, whispering now had then to a squirrel, "Lin's about to speak! Let's hear what she has to say."

The whispers of the command spread through the crowd like wildfire. Within minutes, silence held all the squirrels in rapt attention, waiting on the squirrelmaid's word.

Lin gazed calmly over the assembled squirrels. For some time she remained silent, waiting until she knew she had everybeast's attention. Then she began. "Friends, you know your tribe's past, and most of you, at least, know mine. Groomyer the Ruthless is our common enemy! He is a danger to many that must be stopped! Many would say that we fight for revenge, for the memories of our dead family and friends. We do not. We fight for a peaceful world for our children, so that they may grow up in a world without danger or fear. Our tribes must band together to fight this evil, this . . . fox! Who is with me?"

Shouts and cheers rang out, coupled with waving paws. Lin continued, raising her voice to be heard over the din. "We will fight this evil that threatens our families and our kin! This is a war we must fight! We fight for victory! We fight for peace! We fight for justice! We fight for freedom!"

The crowd of squirrels roared lustily in reply to the squirrelmaid's challenge. "Freedom! Freedom! Foooeseeekeerrr!"

Oakfur, Tam, Doogy, and the hares met Lin as she climbed down from the rock. Crosow was the first to speak. His ears standing stiffly to attention, the young hare exclaimed, "Good grief, marm, that was quite a bally speech, wot!"

Shorelad was quick to follow up. "Absoballylootly! Top hole, wot! Better then a bloomin' badger lord could do! Top marks!"

Tam smiled at Lin. "Well done. Ye sounded wonderful."

Lin smiled shyly; now that she was finished a wave of self-consciousness had swept over her. She glanced sideways at Oakfur, and then lowered her gaze in embarrassment when she found her friend gazing at her proudly. She mumbled, "'Twas nothing. Anybeast could have done it."

Doogy shook his head. "Anybeast could o' done et, but only ye could o' done et like ye did, Lin. Ye sounded like a true leader."

Lin gazed at the bonfire in the clearing. "Soon we'll see if'n I'm a real leader or not."

_

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_

This was one of those chapters that are a pain in the neck to write, because there's no real chapter plotline, although they are necessary because they set the stage for larger events. I spent three days on this chapter, mostly re-writing parts. Not my kind of writing. But this was a necessary chapter, so whatever.

_PLEASE REVIEW!! My last chapter was one I was expecting a bunch of reviews on, but it tied several other chapters for third place in low reviews. (It got 3 reviews, in case you're wondering.) Thank you __Jade TeaLeaf__, __Twilarose__, and __Martin the Warrior__ (anonymous) for reviewing. The rest of you . . . grrr! ;-)_

_Please check out my poll on my homepage/bio (will somebody please tell be what that thing is actually supposed to be called?). The due date for results is roughly two to six weeks from now, so please vote!_

_~Foeseeker~_


	31. Rolling Breakers

_30: Rolling Breakers_

Seven ships rode the tossing breakers, their sails billowing in the wind as they drove southwest. Behind them, against the far horizon, the last glimpses of the shore could be seen. The Foeseekers were leaving the Northlands.

Lin stood in the _Dawn Queen's_ stern, watching the land fade out of sight. The late morning sun sparkled off the ship's foaming wake, causing the squirrelmaid to blink. She wondered what the seas had in store for them. The open waters were fraught with dangers of all kinds, and it was only a matter of time until they ran into one.

Pawsteps sounded on the deck behind her. Without bothering to turn around, Lin acknowledged the creature's presence. "Do you think this was a good idea?"

Tam leaned on the rail next to her. The border warrior glanced sideways at his young friend, gauging her attentiveness. "What exactly do ye mean?"

Lin flicked a drop of seawater from her whiskers. "Pulling the Foeseekers away from the Northlands. They have deep roots there; it's their homeland. Is it right to do this?"

Tam chuckled to himself; Lin was overcautious on subjects like this. He replied quickly. "I was talking with Oakfur yesterday, and he said that the Foeseekers don't have any roots in the Northlands. They came to the Northlands by slavery, not of their free will. They never tied themselves down to the Northlands, as ye know. In fact, almost all of the Foeseekers wanted to leave, as they believe that their roots lie on an island in the semi-tropic ocean. I've been hearin' rumors that Volkendo might be that island."

Lin twitched her tail, deep in thought. Then she tilted her head so that she could look sideways into Tam's face. "So you're saying that this is a good thing for them?"

Tam nodded, a ghost of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Aye, so I am. Perhaps the Foeseekers'll find their homeland. Who knows?"

Lin stifled a titter as she listened to the Captain behind her berating several inexperienced young squirrels who were getting their first taste of seafaring. The grizzled old squirrel Captain was as water-wise as an otter, with long seasons of seafaring experience. He was trusted completely by everybeast aboard, and he took that trust to his heart. He had spent most of the last week ashore training new crewbeasts in preparation for the voyage. Now he could be seen all over the top deck, correcting a wrongly done job or finding tasks for idle crewbeasts.

Lin winked at Tam. "All I know at the moment is that Captain Nauctus is going to explode if'n we don't do something about it!"

The pair turned and strode toward the irate Captain of the _Dawn Queen_. Nauctus was roaring at three new crewbeasts in an excellent barrack room form. "You idle-pawed, tiddle-tailed, woebegone excuses for crewbeasts! I'll have you put on duty in the kitchens for th' rest o' this voyage if'n I catch you mountin' a sail upside down agin! Do you hear me, you rotten landlubbers?"

The trio of unlucky young squirrels saluted the old veteran, reciting simultaneously, "Yes, Cap'n! Never happen again, cap'n!"

Captain Nauctus nodded, his bushy black tail still bristling with irate indignation. "Good! Now off to yore duties! An' just let me catch you idling and I'll . . ."

There was no need to finish the threat. The three young squirrels were off as if their tails were on fire. Nauctus allowed a smile to wrinkle his salt-crusted whiskers as he watched them go. Then he hid his emotions as he turned to face Lin and Tam, who had come up behind him.

The gallant Captain saluted the pair. "An' what can I do for you two?"

Tam returned the salute. "We were just wonderin' what ye were shoutin' at the recruits for, sah. Ye sounded right mad, to be sure!"

Nauctus' tail actually seemed to bristle with indignation. "The miscreants were mountin' a sail upside down. By the claw, if'n that's the best I can do with a week o' trainin', then I'm growin' soft in me ol' age!"

Lin tried not to giggle. "Well, that's not half as bad as me on my first voyage. I was only six seasons old at the time. My father had brought me along on a trading voyage, and I begged him to allow me to steer the ship. Just after we exited Tarenta's harbor he finally gave in. But I really had no idea how to do it. When my father told me to turn the ship port, I pushed the tiller to port and brought the ship starboard. We nearly grounded, and my father gave me a thorough lecture about how to steer a ship before he would let me near the tiller again!"

Tam laughed aloud, and Nauctus fought a smile himself. The Captain pawed his greying whiskers, a twinkle in his black eyes. He toyed with the hilt of his double-bladed sabere as he picked up the line of conversation. "Well, I was somethin' like that when I first put out to sea, knowin' about as much about the sea as a fish does about the land. Why, I was only twelve seasons old at the time . . ."

The trio settled down by the ship's rail, swapping old tales and yarns of their young days on the sun-warmed deck, with the salt on their fur and the cheer of comradeship in their hearts.

††

Slarave paced restlessly in her cabin, which was located on the starboard side of the _Dawn Queen_. The single porthole, or ship's window, allowed a good amount of the midday sunlight to enter the small room, playing about the hammock in one corner and the table and bench in another. A plate of food and several rough sketches lay on the table, and the light played merrily across these.

But Slarave was not taking in the simple beauty of her surroundings. Her mind was focused on darker things. Her paw strayed absentmindedly to one of her daggers, stroking the silver-gilded hilt as she thought through her plan.

Striding over to the table, she pushed aside the plate of food and selected one of the sketches. Her black eyes filled with malice, the dethroned Foeseeker leader pored over the crude map she had drawn. Glancing at the upper corner of the parchment, she read through the instructions she had written there. A thin smile spread across her face as she nodded in satisfaction. Yes. It would work. It had to work.

Slarave placed the parchment back on the table, turning quickly as she heard a timid knock on the door. Again her paw went to her dagger as she snapped, "Who is it?"

A gruff voice answered her. "'Tis Frildric an' Wintov, Chief. Permission to come in?"

Slarave grunted. "Aye. Come in."

The two big, muscular squirrels entered the cabin. Frildric, a slightly dull-witted creature but with brawn to make up for his brains, wore a grey tunic and a rope belt, with a sword tucked into the latter. Wintov, slightly smaller then his companion but very quick and intelligent, was dressed in a tunic that was somewhere between tan and yellow. He had a bow over one shoulder, and under his long brown cloak Slarave could see the butt ends of several arrows. The pair was an imposing sight, and the thought crossed Slarave's mind that she was glad to have them on her side.

The former Foeseeker leader stepped toward the pair, her tone sharp and questioning. "Why do you come here? I told you that you were not to be seen by anybeast near my cabin!"

Frildric shifted his footpaws somewhat nervously. "Er, we wanted t' tell you that . . ."

Wintov cut him off. "I – we wanted to tell you that you – we had better make our move soon. It's been a score an' three days since we left the Northlands, an' the fleet's getting closer t' our destination. When we do make landfall, 'twill be too late to make your – our move."

Slarave narrowed her eyes, a sure sign of short temper in the former leader. She drew a pace nearer, growling, "And since when are you giving me orders?"

Wintov stepped back a pace. "I'm sorry, I only thought . . ."

"Rrraaaggghhh!"

Slarave let out a snarling roar as she whipped a dagger from her belt and hurled it without even bothering to take aim. The glistening blade whistled through the air, its song of death ringing in the ears of the two dumbfounded squirrels in the doorway. A split second later the dagger was embedded in the wall of the cabin, an apple impaled on the quivering blade.

The two squirrels instinctively backed up several paces as Slarave advanced on them, growling, "You follow my commands! I give the orders around here! Now, come into my cabin and I'll explain what you must do."

Frildric and Wintov entered the cabin apprehensively. Slarave closed the door behind them and turned to the parchments on the table. Picking up the one she had been inspecting several moments before, the squirrel showed it to her two cohorts. She pointed to various points on the rough sketch as she explained "These are the plans I've drawn up for our move. Frildric, you'll be with Zorth, up here in the rigging. Wintov, you'll be here near the kitchen smoke pipe. Parigo'll be between the tiller an' the rear anchor, an' Fargas'll be by the rail, about here. I'll try to get her position just right, an' then I'll jump her with my trusties here." Slarave patted her daggers, an evil gleam in her eyes.

"When I do, you five'll mill about, to cover me. I'll dump the body over the side, an' it'll appear that she fell off the deck and hit her head. Anyway, she won't be back alive!" The black squirrel's scornful chuckle filled the cabin and made her cohorts shudder.

Frildric glanced at the drawing on some confusion. "But, what if'n Oakfur or Tam or somebeast like that is with Lin? Then what?"

Slarave wagged a claw at him like an elder reprimanding a babe. "I was just getting to that. If one of her mates is with her, I want the closest two out of you five to dispose of them. But remember, Lin is mine!"

††

At that moment, Lin was on the top deck with Oakfur, enjoying the strong sea breeze. The two young squirrels were busy about the top deck of the Dawn Queen, chatting merrily together as they inspected the fishing nets that had been fastened astern, in hopes of catching something for the evening meal.

Oakfur tugged at a rope to ensure its security. He closed his eyes dreamily. "Mmm, I can almost taste that fish bake now. I'd like a nice large herring stuffed with mint leaves, apples, and hickory nuts, with a beaker of cider on top. How about you?"

Lin chuckled as she re-tied a loosening rope end. "Hmm, I think I'd enjoy a ruffy, with a pinch of rosemary and a goodly amount of sea salt sprinkled on top." She licked her lips. "A nice ruffy with the meat still tender. My favorite!"

Oakfur leaned over the side, testing the weight of a net. He waved Lin over. "D'you think this net is ready to be titticked?"

Tittick was a Northland term for a fishing technique that could only be preformed by a nimble beast such as a squirrel. It referred to when a creature would climb down the net and literally walk across the trapped fish, checking to make sure the catch was ready to be hauled in and that the net was in good repair. Now that the Foeseekers were working as fisherbeasts the term was becoming widely used amongst them, as the full definition was a large mouthful to swallow.

Lin recognized what Oakfur meant and nodded. She turned and shouted to the steersbeast, a young squirrel named Quincet who was new to the sea. Lin noted with a secret smile that the young squirrel looked rather bored. Nauctus was going to have to get a relief soon. "Quincet! Oakfur and I are going to tittick the nets. We'll be back in a moment!"

Quincet nodded sleepily. "Very well, mates. I'll tell the Cap'n for y–"

The gruff voice of Captain Nauctus sounded behind the unsuspecting young crewbeast. "Hold it there, you two! I don't want anybeast off t' ship right now."

Lin frowned. "Why not, Cap'n?"

Nauctus pointed northwest. "That."

Lin, Oakfur, and Quincet turned to face where the Captain was pointing. A low, black cloud was heading strait for the fleet. Its ominous, boiling vapors seemed to be reaching out to swallow the ships whole. Sheets of rain could be seen pouring down from the midnight-black clouds. Now and then a flash of lightning would illuminate the underside of the frowning black clouds, turning them a dark purple-grey. Even as the group watched, the midday sunlight began to fade away in the face of the oncoming storm.

Nauctus shook his head. "In all my days, I never saw clouds as black as those. We're in for a big 'un an' no mistake." He turned to the three dumbstruck young squirrels. "Git down to the galleys an' tell everybeast to douse all fires. Warn Colnstad to be ready to put out oars. Everybeast is to tie down all loose objects and keep youngsters close. Move it! I'll see to things on deck."

Lin dashed off, her heart pounding. She had seen one or two small squalls at sea, but she had never been in a real storm, let alone such a storm as this would most assuredly be. Her fear must have showed in her voice, because Rhulna immediately began organizing the other families in the galley. Lin left assured that everything would be in order when the storm struck.

As the squirrelmaid hurried back up to the top deck, she touched her bracelet for reassurance. The thing gold and diamond band seemed to her like a link to her past, and she never removed it. her mother had never taken it off, either, and Lin had resolved to do the same. The squirrelmaid's eyes hardened as she thought of her mother, so cruelly slain by Groomyer. She started back up to the top deck, her purpose newly resolved in the front of her mind. Groomyer would fall!

As Lin climbed onto the top deck, she was shocked at how much closer the black cloud was. Now that she could see it up close, the boiling morass seemed to be swirling around and around in a dizzying circle. Shafts of lightning crackled down from the vaporous maelstrom, and rain poured down as if the skies had been opened. The storm was only a mile or so away now.

Lin was suddenly knocked flat as the first large wave hit the _Dawn Queen_. Squirrels fell about, shouting in confusion and fear. Captain Nauctus, one of the only beasts who had not fallen, roared out orders. "Get those sails down there! Haul in the fishing nets! Close th' hatches! I don't want the wind to blow us off course like a scrap o' paper! Javer, you lolligin' lolly, git your idle paws into the riggin! Move!"

Chaos ensued. Squirrels dashed about this way and that, coiling ropes, hauling the fishing nets, lowering sails, and a thousand other tasks. There was order in the chaos, however. In the course of five minutes, the ship was ready to brave the storm.

The six other ships had also prepared to face the gale. The _Forthright_, the ship nearest the _Dawn Queen_, looked like a bare skeleton of a ship without her sails. The _Youlyego_, a smaller ship near the rear of the fleet, already had its oars out in preparation to face the onslaught of the tempest.

And they were necessary. Huge waves were now striking the ships, sending them rolling like marbles across the foaming waters. The frothing clouds came boiling across the sky to block out the sun, sending curtains of rain down on the ships. The storm had struck with all its fury.

Lin reeled across the deck, intent on making it to the rail. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Slarave and her cohorts scramble up on deck as she grasped the rail. As the squirrelmaid clung grimly to the rail, she saw a sight that would haunt her for seasons to come.

The clouds were spinning in a tight circle almost directly above the ships. As the squirrels on deck watched in awed horror, the center of that circle began to descend toward the fleet like a groping finger, grey-black and huge, perhaps half a ship's length across. The wind seemed to triple its fury, screaming like a demented beast as it whipped through the rigging. The nightmarish apparition slowly, almost mockingly descended toward the sea, its dark, vaporous depths blurring with the black sky above it.

The petrified squirrels were stirred to life again by Nauctus' frantic shouts. The tough old mariner had jerked himself out of his shock-induced stupor. His roars sent the crew scurrying in all directions as he bellowed out orders. "Quincet, git down to the galleys and tell 'em to put out the oars! Darson, go with 'im, git the drumbeat goin'! The rest of you, either git below decks or hunker down up 'ere! That's a tornado there, that spinning cloud. It's the fiercest, deadliest storm on earth!"

_

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I hope you could follow this chapter. I'm a little worried that it was a little too fast-paced and choppy, so please notify me on that._

_Just to clarify things, there was a time skip in this chapter. The opening scene with Lin, Tam, and Captain Nauctus took place on the Foeseekers' first day out to sea. The second part, with Slarave and co. and the storm was twenty-three days afterward, so they're into the more tropical climes now._

_Please vote in my poll! I really need results, so vote!_

_For a while here, I'm afraid that my postings are going to be random, instead of every Sunday. There have been . . . problems on my end, and they're going to hamper my updating speed._

_What did you think with the tornado? Please tell me in your review. I just knew you were about to review, so do continue! ;-)_

_Thanks!_

_Foeseeker_


	32. To All in Need

_31: To All in Need_

A shadow flitted across the moonlit lane. The sandy ground left no imprint as the owner of the shadow darted into the protective cover of another hut. The creature's breath was smooth, even, and almost soundless in the dead night as it wove its way from one dark shadow to another, keeping a sharp eye out for danger as it did.

The ferret Tippin peeked out from his hiding place behind a low hurdle fence. His quick, golden eyes caught the shadow of the mysterious creature as it momentarily appeared from around a corner. The ferret smiled as he whispered to his two companions, "'Ere comes Gareth, jus' like 'ee said 'ee would! Wot did I tell ya?"

One of the two beasts behind him, a red-gold vixen named Vittonae, curled her lip. "Wotever ye said, I still don't trust 'im. Fer goodness' sake, 'ee's the son o' the warlord! Why are we even 'avin' dealin's with 'im at all?"

Tippin frowned at the vixen, who was at least ten seasons younger then himself. "Lissen, missie, Gareth is a goodbeast, an' a better one then ya! 'Ee's ready ta trust us, so why don't we trust 'im?"

The other creature with the pair, a stoat called Ayik, placed a paw on his companions' shoulders. "'Ush yer bickerin', 'ere 'ee comes."

Gareth slid neatly into the hiding place, dumping a bulging pack into Ayik's lap. "Whew! I didn't know a measly bag of vittles could be so heavy!"

Vittonae was about to retort, when Tippin stepped between the two foxes. "Dat's ta be believed, mate. Tha' sack looks like it 'as a full grown badger in et. What ya pack, eh?"

Gareth grinned in the darkness. "Plenty of vittles, don't you worry. Oh, I also pinched two pies off the cooks. Thought the slaves could use a treat!"

Ayik chuckled. "Thievin' little wretch, are ye? Well, ye wee rip, let's git dis food in ter the slaves, an' not waste time 'ere with idle chitchat!"

Gareth nodded. "Aye. What's the plan this time?"

Tippin leaned forward and whispered, "Vittonae'll stay 'ere an' act as lookout, an' Ayik'll go round ter der odder side, as 'ee's supposed ter be on sentry duty over dere. Gareth an' I'll slip inter th' compound through th' woodpile. I checked et – dere's nobeast o'er there."

The ferret was referring to one of the group's several entrances to the slave compound. This particular entry was a mere crack between two of the thick, stout tree trunks that made up the wall of the compound that had been passed by in the construction. At some point, a woodpile had been made up in front of the crack, hiding it. But when the group of good-hearted vermin got down to the business of assisting the slaves, one of them had remembered the little crack. They had sneaked into the woodpile and widened the crack by cutting away the wood. It was just big enough for one creature to squeeze through at a time, but it was well-hidden from prying eyes by the reasonably large woodpile, which had been "hollowed out" to create a kind of room that was large enough for two or three creatures to sit inside.

Tippin peeked out from behind the low fence. His golden eyes roved over the surrounding area; there was no foebeast in sight. He nodded to Ayik, who slipped out and sprinted silently into the darkness.

As the remaining three waited, Tippin looked sternly at Vittonae. "Ya know what ya're supposed ta do?"

Vittonae nodded, patting the curious weapon at her side as she smiled, her emerald-green eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Aye, I do. Stay low an' keep watch unless somebeast offers trouble. If'n they do, I knock their block off!"

Tippin's frown deepened as he reprimanded the vixen. "Nay, if'n somebeast offers trouble, distract 'em; ya're smart enough tha' ya can decide what ta do when et need's doin'. Oh, an' don't forget; one low whistle if'n th' coast is clear, an' two if'n there's danger about."

Gareth eyed the blade at the vixen's side curiously. "Pardon me asking, miss, but what exactly is that weapon you carry? I can't place it."

Vittonae drew the strange blade from her worn leather belt, tilting it so that it reflected the light of the full moon. "It's a combination o' a dirk an' sickle, with th' sickle on one end an' th' dagger at th' opposite end o' th' hilt, so that th' hilt is 'twixt th' two blades. 'Tis excellent fer battle; see, I can stab forwards or backwards, twirl th' two blades, or even throw it."

Gareth took the strange weapon in his paws, admiring it. The sickle blade was shaped like a half moon and was made of lightweight steel, the blade smooth and free of rust. The dirk was of the same material, honed to a razor edge and as clean and bright as if the smith had just finished it. The hilt betwixt the two blades was curiously made. Its core was steel, joining the two blades in one single piece. This was wrapped in tightly braided red twine, adorned only on the double crosstrees. These were plated in silver and the tips of each were set with a small emerald.

Gareth tossed the weapon in his paw, weighing it. Then he handed it back to Vittonae, shaking his head admiringly. "'Tis quite a weapon! How did you come up with the idea?"

Vittonae smiled slightly as she slid the double blade easily into her belt. "Actually, 'twas me pap who came up with the idea an' made it, but 'ee died afore 'ee ever got to use it, so I inherited it, bein' 'is only livin' family."

Tippin broke in. "Pardon me interruptin', but Ayik jus' gave us th' all-clear signal. Vittonae, are ya ready?"

The vixen nodded wordlessly. With the ease of one born to the task, she melted away into the shadows, her long grey-brown cloak hiding her completely.

Gareth winked at Tippin. "I'll have to see about that vixen replacing Zadi. She's far better at the job then that old sneakywhiskers!"

Tippin shook his head, laughing. "Nay, mate. That she-fox is young an' hotheaded, an' would git 'erself killed if'n she were given a high-rankin' position. But she'll learn, don't ya worry about dat!"

The fox and ferret slipped silently across the lane separating them from the slave compound. The woodpile, which was only a score of paces away from their original hiding place, was quickly reached. Tippin quickly pulled aside a few fagots of wood, revealing the entrance to the hidden "room" under the woodpile. He slipped in, closely followed by Gareth, who was carrying the pack filled with provisions for the slaves.

It took several moments to re-close the opening into the woodpile, but once they finished, Gareth and Tippin turned their attention to the gap in the compound wall. Gareth squeezed through first, landing in a heap on the sandy ground. Tippin pushed the sack after the young fox, wriggling through himself once the gap was clear.

Gareth stood slowly, glancing about to ensure that their entrance had not disturbed the slaves nearby. The young fox then strode over to one of the bunks, tapping the sleeper lightly on the nose. "Wakey wakey, Darrion! It's time to get these slaves fed!"

The mouse Darrion, the one Gareth and given the dagger to several days before, blinked sleepily, groaned, and rolled over the edge of the bunk. He sat on the ground rubbing his eyes and muttering, "But I was 'aving such a nice dream, d' I 'ave to get up?"

Gareth chuckled. "If'n you want an apple and perhaps a bit of damson and plum pie, yes you do."

At the mention of damson and plum pie, Darrion came fully awake. "What? Pie? You brought _pie_?!"

Gareth placed his paw across the mouse's mouth, whispering, "Keep it down! We don't want all these slaves waking up and making a big ruckus. Yes, I did pinch two pies off the cooks, but don't go and tell the whole island, now!"

Darrion grinned as the fox released his mouth. "Agreed. By the bye, did Tippin come with you?"

Gareth nodded. "Aye, he did, and he's going to help us pass out the food to the slaves." He waved the ferret over. "Remember your instructions, both of you. Don't let them utter one peep when you wake them, and make sure they get their allotted share. Darrion, will you wake Watton? We'll need his help in passing out the food. Tippin, could you get Rinsee and Havin? I'll find Mirrdoc and Raulkus."

The selected creatures were soon roused. Gareth and Rinsee the otterwife split the food into portions while the other six went about the slave compound, waking the other slaves and dealing out the food. Soon, quiet whispering could be heard throughout the compound as the slaves took their small but nourishing repast.

When the long, arduous task of feeding the scores of slaves was finished, Gareth drew out of the large sack two smaller ones. One of these he opened, revealing herbs, liniments, bandages, a thorn needle, and a ball of flaxen thread. He had the slaves who thought they needed medical treatment form a line. Going from one to another, he checked them over, assuring those who had no need for medical care, giving quick treatment to those with minor injuries or ailments, and sending those few with a critical wound or illness to a quiet corner of the compound to wait for more lengthy treatment.

Gareth was finished with the easier cases within a short time. Assuring himself that Tippin and the others were busying themselves in caring for the slaves, he went over to where he had sent those with more intricate ailments. A young vole and an otter received a thick, broth-like substance that Gareth brewed over a small, hasty fire as a treatment of their deep, hacking cough. An elderly mousewife needed a warm compress on her footpaw to ease the cramping pains. Two shrews, a mouse, an otter and three squirrels required some part of their bodies spread with liniment and bandaged as a result of a severe beating. And one old Tarentian squirrel had a deep gash on his lower arm from when he tripped and fell on a sharp stone. Gareth spent some time on this last case, packing the open would with sanicle and boiled moss, rubbing in a goodly amount of liniment, spreading the area with crushed dockleaves, and binding the entire thing up with soft, well-used linen bandages.

The moon was extinguishing itself in the dark, obsidian sea when Gareth finally finished his work. Straitening up and wiping his brow, the young fox was startled to find that almost all of the slaves had gone back to their bunks and were now sound asleep. Gently shooing the elderly squirrel off to his bunk, Gareth packed his healing implements and hurried over to Tippin, who was sitting with Darrion, Raulkus, Mirrdoc, and about a half dozen other creatures who hadn't felt like going of to their rest.

Gareth glanced about in astonishment as he exclaimed in a low voice, "Did time slip through our paws so suddenly? Is everything finished here?"

Mirrdoc nodded sagely. "Aye. You were so busy with that old squirrel that you didn't notice how time was flying. 'Tis high time you and Tippin were away from here."

Tippin shook his head. "There's one more thing ta be done. Gareth, what's in dat odder sack dat ya pulled out o' der big 'un?"

Gareth smiled as he picked up the sack in question. "This is a gift to Darrion that I promised him several days ago. What do you think?"

He upended the sack onto the sandy ground. Out came several daggers, a half dozen spearheads, a multitude of arrows and arrowheads, three bows with the strings attached, a short sword, and five stout slings. The weapons lay on the ground in a small heap, now and then clinking as one of the blades shifted slightly.

The slaves sat silently in amazed shock, and even Tippin was startled. "Blood an' thunder, matey, where'd ya git all o' dat booty?"

Gareth shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. "Oh, I picked them up here and there. I was able to get my paws on most of them through one of the horde blacksmiths, a fox named Bannaru. He's a decent creature and was of great assistance to me."

Darrion gathered up the pile of weapons. "I'll hide these in the sand by the entrance. Thank ye, Gareth. I had no idea that you'd be able t' get this many weapons for us!"

Gareth chuckled. "We'll see about that. With Tippin and the others helping, we should be able to stock up on a tidy little armory. But enough of the chitchat, mates. 'Tis time Tippin and I were away from here. We'll be back in a few nights. In the mean time, keep your chins up!"

Raulkus, a squirrel with a knack of making anybeast laugh, stuck his chin in the air. "Like this?"

The still, silent moon looked down on the merry group in the slave compound, observing with sightless eyes the strange sight. Two vermin, relaxed and friendly, laughing alongside slaves in comradeship and peace.

Gareth, Tippin, and their companions were making their mark on the slaves of Groomyer.

_

* * *

What did you think? PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!_

_Don't forget that poll! (Yes, I know I'm annoying you with these constant reminders, but I'm going to annoy you until you vote, so VOTE!)_

_I hope you liked Tippin, Vittonae (pronounced vi-tone-ay), and Ayik. I was planning to introduce more members of the little group of good vermin in this chapter, but then I decided that that would be too big an operation and might attract somebeast's attention. Next Gareth-and-co-centered chapter, I PROMISE!_

_Ages (I knew you were about to ask!)_

_Tippin = 26_

_Vittonae = 16_

_Ayik = 38 - 42_

_Did anyone pick up a certain name in this chapter? That character, although they didn't even make cameo in this chapter, will become much more involved in the story later._

_Foeseeker_


	33. Worries and Memories

_32: Worries and Memories_

When Melanda failed to return in the evening, Armel was worried. She spent the night tossing and turning, trying to assure herself that Melanda had simply met up with the Gousim and was spending the night with them. However, when the squirrelmaid had still not appeared by noon the next day, the infirmary keeper sought out Sergeant Wonwill and Captain Fortindom.

The two Long Patrol hares were sitting near the tapestry in Great Hall when Armel found them. They had apparently just finished breakfast, for they were settled on a bench in the contented way that hares do when they have just finished a large and satisfying meal. Armel hated to ruin their contentment, but she knew that her news was urgent. Approaching them, the squirrelmum explained the quandary she was in and asked what they thought she should do.

Fortindom was the first to reply. His response was meant to be merely questioning, but in his shocked surprise his tone was unintentionally sharp, almost harsh. "Why did ye send 'er out in the first place?"

Armel lowered her head, wringing her paws. "I thought that the danger couldn't be too close to the abbey, or Tergen would have spotted something. She wasn't to go more than five furlongs from the abbey, and I made sure that she took a dagger along with her."

Wonwill shook his head. "Ye don't want to know half o' some o' the blinkin' things that vermin'll do to an honest creature, an' the least of 'em jolly well isn't ambush. The vermin probably sneaked up on 'er an' bopped 'er over the noggin, or somethin' along those lines, wot! Huh, that's 'ow Gulo got 'is murderin' paws on Doogy durin' the Seasons o' the Savage!"

Armel shuddered, recalling the Redwallers' sometime adversary. She glanced up as Captain Fortindom spoke; the hare sounded as if he was talking to himself. "Hmm, this gives us quite a nice kettle of fish, wot! Now, what to do fir–"

"Cap'in Fort'dom! Look what I founded!"

The Captain was cut short as little Dauncey DeMayne came tearing toward them, shouting at the top of his lungs. The young hare nearly bowled into Wonwill as he skidded to a halt, panting with excitement and his rapid pace. He held out his chubby paw to the Captain, saying proudly as he did so, "'Twas on a t'ee jus' outside th' south wallgate. Pappy 'as th' dagger dat was in th' t'ee."

The Long Patrol Captain took the piece of birchbark from Dauncey's paw, a worried frown on his face. As he read the crude symbols that had been written on the scroll of bark, his eyes narrowed and Armel fancied she heard him softly growling.

When Fortindom finished reading, he turned toward Dauncey. His voice brooked no nonsense as he addressed the young hare. "Go fetch your Pater; I need to speak with him immediately!"

As the young hare dashed off, Wonwill turned his questioning gaze upon the Captain. "Wot does that parchment say? Bad news, wot?"

Fortindom flexed his claws, his voice tense with anger as he replied. "Remember that volethief tellin' us that whenever those flippin' Hooded Host blighters snatched away any woodlanders, they'd leave a notice pinned somewhere nearby? Well, they've done it again!"

Armel's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Fortindom slammed his paw against the bench in a sudden outburst of rage. "They've made off with Melanda!"

Armel reeled backward in shock. Wonwill grabbed her and sat her down on the bench. "There, now, marm, don't ye fret, we'll find Mizz Melanda. Now, why don't ye and I go find Tergen an' Yoofus? 'Tis time they got started on their scouting mission, wot wot!"

Fortindom held up his paw. "Not yet, Sergeant. I need Armel to do something for me first."

Armel looked up at the stone-like Captain. "What?"

Fortindom nodded toward Ferdimond and Dauncey, who had just entered Great Hall. Armel's eyes widened as she saw what the former was carrying in his paw. Without waiting for Fortindom or Wonwill, the squirrelmum dashed towards the hare. Seizing his arm, she cried, "Where did you get Melanda's dagger?!"

Ferdimond held out the medium-sized silver dagger. "Wot, this? It was stuck through that flamin' message; jammed into a bally tree, would you believe. Why?"

But Armel had already turned away. Ferdimond watched her stumble off in the direction of the stairs in some confusion. He turned towards Fortindom and Wonwill, who had come to stand near him. "Was it somethin' I flippin' well said, wot?"

Wonwill shook his head. "No. Melanda's gone missin', an' that's the dagger she took with her when she left the blinkin' abbey." He turned abruptly as he realized that Fortindom was already striding purposefully away. "Wait a bally moment, Captain, where're ye off to, wot wot?"

Fortindom called over his shoulder, "To find Yoofus an' Tergen!"

††

When Captain Fortindom told him the news, Yoofus was devastated. The bankvole, after giving instructions to the kitchen staff as to packing his haversack, wandered off to Great Hall.

This couldn't be happening.

Not again.

The volethief found himself before the tapestry. Gazing up at it, his eyes seemed to be drawn to the figure of the valiant mouse portrayed in the center of the embroidered treasure of the abbey.

Yoofus had never felt any admiration for the hero of Redwall. In his mind, Martin was just another mouse who happened to be a warrior and one of the abbey's founders. He had never paused and studied the tapestry, and the Warrior, in detail.

But now, as he did so, the watervole found his respect of the champion growing. The mouse seemed so strong, so vigilant, as he stood eternally guarding his abbey from harm. The sword in his paws seemed to flash as a light breeze from the open doors stirred the tapestry.

Then Yoofus noticed something else. Although Martin's face, at first glance, seemed so proud, joyful, and erect, at a second glance he saw that the Warrior's eyes were full of sorrow. Martin's head seemed to droop and his countenance seemed so . . . mournful, that Yoofus felt a lump rise in his throat.

His mind wandered back to the last time he himself had felt so unhappy . . .

††

Didjety placed her tiny son into his makeshift cradle, smiling gently as he sucked his paw sleepily. The volewife quietly hummed an old lullaby as she tucked the little furry creature's blankets around him. Tiptoeing out of the tent, she closed the flap softly.

Yoofus rose from the streambank as his wife exited. The bankvole, still in his young seasons, grinned at her expectantly. "Well, is he asleep?"

Didjety nodded, her eyes twinkling at her husband's newly-a-father excitement. She settled herself on a fallen log, remarking, "How much longer 'till we reach Redwall Abbey, d'ye think?"

Yoofus stretched himself out on a bed of ferns, twirling a blade of grass in his paws as he replied, "Oh, shure, we're not far now, me little sugarplum. Me darlin' Mammy always said that we just 'ad to follow this stream until we came t' a nice lake, an' then we're t' cut off north. The abbey'd be jus' two days' march from there."

Didjety swatted him playfully with her apron hem. "Oh, well, ye're about as clear as mud. I'll leave the navigatin' up to ye an' tend to the cookin' an' cleanin' meself." She leaned back against an elm tree as she continued somewhat dreamily, "All I want at the abbey is a good place for Virko to grow up. But I do think it would be an excellent place for all three of us to live, don't you?"

Yoofus nodded, his attention being diverted by a small fish darting about just below the surface of the stream. "Er, whatever ye say, me ol' tatercake. Will ye help me catch this nice fishy here? We could have a fine stew tonight."

Didjety swatted him again. "An' who'll be cookin' that, you or me? You're right, though, 'twould be nice to have a change in our meals for once."

The two bankvoles set about catching the fish. It was a tricky task, for their finny adversary was apparently an expert on fishing and knew every trick in the book. It began to rain, but still Yoofus and Didjety were undaunted.

A sudden wail interrupted their intent concentration. With a cry, Didjety dropped her fishing tackle and set off at a sprint for their campsite. Yoofus took a split second longer to realize what was happening, but when he did he too dashed off, yelling, "Virko! Virko!"

He outdistanced his wife, reaching the tent first. His heart almost stopped at the scene before him.

All their belongings had been turned upside-down and scattered everywhere. One of the tentpoles had been pulled awry, and the back of the canvass tarp cover was ripped. But the only thing Yoofus was paying any attention to was his son's empty cradle.

And the piece of parchment resting on it.

The watervole snatched up the birchbark scroll, trying to read it. But the wind had already driven rain into the tent through the large tear in the back and part of the ink, still not completely dry, had been smudged. All that could still be read went:

"The young vole that slept here has now been taken to a place of greater safety. You will not see him again, but do not fear. He will be well taken care of by . . ."

The rest had been erased by the driving rain.

Yoofus hung his head, his vision blurring as hot tears welled up in his eyes. Didjety, seeing her husband so distressed, wisely let him be. Her own grief would only cause his to become even greater.

Yoofus sat down just beyond the edge of the clearing where they had camped. He was too good a woodsbeast to even think about looking for tracks; the rain would have already eroded them. His only thought at the moment was of his young son, Virko. He had had such dreams . . . of playing with his son by the pond at Redwall Abbey . . . of teaching him the names of all the plants that grew in Mossflower . . . of telling his son bedtime stories about long gone heroes . . .

As he contemplated these thoughts, a strange feeling began to grow inside of Yoofus. His tears stopped flowing, and his eyes narrowed.

He hated the world. Oh, how he hated it! That cruel world that had stolen his son from him. He would no longer love the world. He would shut it out, treat it like his enemy. It _was_ his enemy. He would seek his revenge upon the whole world for the loss of his son!

And he would never speak of his son again. Never. Only to Didjety, his sole remaining treasure, would he talk about that stolen blossom of theirs.

Yoofus strode back to the tent, his resolution burning in his mind and heart.

††

Yoofus had made his revenge against the world. Stealing from everybeast he came across, he made the world pay. Oh, how he liked to see his revenge work itself!

But gradually, over time, the novelty of thieving wore off. He began to realize that his revenge was still not closing the great hole in his heart. Merely, it was enlargement it. He began to take only what he thought would fill that hole. Pretty things, things that looked valuable, things of great price. But still the hole wasn't filled. And he didn't know how to fill it.

Yoofus sighed and looked up at Martin. He so wanted to know the answer to that one question; how to fill that hole of loss. He wondered at the warrior on the tapestry; hadn't he ever felt loss?

Unexpectedly, a voice sounded in the watervole's mind. "Yes, Yoofus, I did feel loss. Many times."

Yoofus' eyes widened. His voice seemed to echo around Great Hall as he whispered, "Martin?"

The voice answered. "Yes. I am Martin. And I did feel loss. In fact, I felt more loss then you will ever feel. I lost my mother at an early age. Then I lost my father. Then I lost my one true love. Rose. That alone nearly killed me. She was murdered cruelly by my greatest enemy, and I never forgave myself for her death.

"But I did fill that hole those losses made. But I didn't fill it with stolen goods. I filled it with love and kindness. Redwall honors me because, although I was a warrior, I treated those around me with kindness and compassion. I didn't steal from them; I gave them what was mine. I helped those who needed me, and sought out what I could do for others. You must do the same if you are to fill that hole your loss made."

Yoofus raised his eyes to meet those of the Warrior. He fancied that those sad eyes seemed to smile as the voice continued. "And let me tell you something, Yoofus. I was never completely happy. You can see that on the tapestry. But I was content, and that was all I needed to live at peace with the world. You can do the same."

Yoofus spoke again. "Martin, will you tell me what I must do to find Melanda? Armel is so sad; I'm afraid for her health. Fortindom gave me instructions as t' me scoutin', but I feel that they're insufficient. Is there anything ye'd add t' 'em?"

The voice sounded very serious as it boomed out in Yoofus' head. "Only that you must never think of yourself before others. If you see a creature in danger, rescue them at any cost. And protect my abbey."

Yoofus could tell that the Warrior was leaving him. He stepped forward, crying, "Martin, wait! I have so much to ask . . ."

"I must go, Yoofus. But remember this; I will always watch over you and guide you, and so will my closest friend, who was also a thief. Farewell!"

Yoofus came back down to earth with a bump. He found himself leaning against one of the sandstone columns, staring up at the face of Martin the Warrior. The vole shook himself, feeling a kind of grip slide from him. He glanced up at the Warrior, whispering his name. "Martin?"

There was no answer.

Yoofus sighed. He still felt hollow, but there was that feeling that had slid from him . . . that feeling that had for so long held him in its viselike grip . . .

And he realized what it was. The cold vow he had made so long ago, that day when his son was stolen from him forever. It had slid from him as easily as water from a jug, now that he had freely let it go.

And there was that glowing coal in his heart. Yoofus knew what it was. It was the knowledge that he was not alone. That Redwall had been built upon the sadness and losses of one creature, and that it stood as an everlasting symbol of what kindness, trust, and charity could do.

He strode off toward the kitchens to fetch his haversack. He hoped that the cooks had packed some strawberry cordial. He was very partial to that.

As he marched out of the Hall, he didn't see that the eyes of the Warrior were following him. And would follow him for the rest of his life.

_

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What did you think? PLEASE REVIEW!_

_Was anyone confused with that part at the beginning, with Armel, Fortindom, and Wonwill? Or any part of this chapter, for that matter? If so, please PM me and I'll be happy to explain._

_I'm doing this to Yoofus because I didn't like him as a thief in __Rakkety Tam__, so this chapter is really the start of his reformation. We'll see what happens with him, eh? ;-)_

_Also, this might be last call for the poll, so VOTE!_

_~Foeseeker~_


	34. Evil's Spawn

_33: Evil's Spawn_

Crack!

The thin, plaited whip cracked over the slaves' heads. One unlucky otter cried out as the tiny metal spike on the whip's end sliced across his back. The slavedriver, a huge, greasy-looking rat called Leersnout sneered, "Keep yer 'ead down, ijit, an' git back ter work! No idlin' 'round 'ere!"

The otter ducked his head to avoid further attention, glancing sideways at the squirrelmaid on his immediate left. In as low a voice as he could manage, he whispered, "Haarrgghh, that . . . rat! If'n I ever get free, he'll be the first I go after!"

The squirrelmaid glanced about fugitively to ensure that the pair were in no immediate danger. Then she replied in the same low whisper. "Aye, but that's if'n we ever do. Don't dream of such things, Gorsepaw. It'll only make your life worse, thinking of the outside world as if you'll see it again."

Gorsepaw made a face. "Aww, ye're such a worrywort, Melanda. Why don't you think about how you can escape? That's even better then dreaming of idle things, as you seem to think of them."

Melanda shook her head. "I've turned that idea over in my head so many times that I've seen every side of it at least thrice. There's no chance that we'll even make the boundaries."

She gave a meaningful toss of her head towards the gorge's heavily guarded rim. Valamarus, the domain of Malus Deathclaw, was in reality a gorge dug into a range of hills. Malus' great-great grandfather, Havern Ripclaw, had discovered the then-humble valley as a young horde leader. Settling down there with his little gang, he set about one of the most ambitious projects ever seen in Mossflower woods.

Using everybeast under his command, slaves and hordebeasts alike, Havern diverted the river that flowed through the valley. Its rushing waters were contained behind a huge dam that, coupled with cleverly designed retaining walls and two control gates, moved the riverbed to a new course roughly a mile from the valley.

Then Havern had the valley expanded, digging away the gently rolling slopes to leave sheer, stony cliffs. The rubble from this excavation was carried outside the valley and deposited on the outer slopes, building up the sides of the valley to deepen it.

By the time Havern died, passing the rule of the horde on to his son, Julion Doomclaw, the humble valley had gone from little more than a streambed to a huge gorge, as deep as four badgers standing on each other's shoulders, as wide as ten huge trees one over the other, and as long as two hundred and fifty shrew logboats placed end to end.

A small island stood in the center of the gorge, surounded by a swift stream. This stream was swift and dangerous, the only thing in the gorge that remained from the original river's former glory. The actual river stood as a barrier between western Mossflower and the gorge, which had been dubbed Valamarus by Havern on his deathbed.

His son Julion had been relatively peaceful as warlords go, and had not attempted to expand his domain. His only aggressive movements had been the capture of numerous slaves, which he put to work tilling the soil, building homes for himself and his hordebeasts, and expanding the gorge. His son, Vitox Bladeclaw, was the same way, never attempting to expand his kingdom. In fact, he was an almost kind master, treating his slaves relatively well and allowing them much more freedom then his father.

Vitox's son was a different matter. Kandor Slashclaw was a strict taskmaster, often driving his slaves beyond their limits. He set them to work making the gorge even bigger, expanding the area under his paws. However, he had no thoughts of conquest until he reached his elder seasons. By then it was too late for him, but he was determined that his son Malus would be ready to conquer Mossflower when he was given the reins of the kingdom. As Vitox grew old he trained Malus to be a ruthless killer, a cunning tactician, a fearsome warrior, and a strong leader. The young kitten took his training seriously, quickly developing into a powerful warlord.

When Vitox died, Malus Deathclaw went to work. He concentrated on building up the number of creatures under his command, both slaves and hordebeasts. To accommodate all the new creatures in the gorge, he had it enlarged even more. Large fields of crops were planted outside of the gorge to feed the growing population, as the older, smaller fields inside the gorge did not yield enough produce.

It was in Malus' third season of rule that Melanda arrived. By that time the slaves were treated little better then animals, being put into separate housing units, forced to wear halters and body harnesses, and so brutally treated that many slaves succumbed to that state where the true creature was no longer there, but replaced with a strange, crazed being. It was almost worse than death, some of the slaves said. This was not far from true, but some still clung to that unreasonable thing called hope, so tantalizing with its "ifs," "maybes," and "perhaps."

Gorsepaw glanced up at the gorge's edge, watching the guards patrolling the rim of the gorge. This had recently been reinforced by a stout rail on the inside and a sturdy wall on the outside. No slave could even think of escape through either these heavily patrolled walks or any of the four equally heavily guarded gates. It was like a death trap, the gorge of Valamarus, so forbidding in its security.

The dark brown otter grimaced and went back to the grueling work of laying bricks for a new storehouse. He growled under his breath to Melanda, "Huh, weedbrained idiots! I'd give my rudder and ears for a chance at 'em! Just tie 'em to a pole, all nice an' quiet-like, an' then gimme a willow whip an' leve me with 'em fer five minutes!"

Melanda ducked her head as Leersnout approached them. She waited until he passed, and then replied with a bit of iron in her tone. "Gorsepaw, you're insane! If'n you even look a Hooded one in the eye, they'll beat you hollow! Don't even think about escape, or attacking a Hooded one! 'Twould be suicide!"

Gorsepaw curled his lip. "Hooded ones, indeed! The only reason they call themselves the Hooded Host is because o' those bits of rags they call cloaks. Aye, the ones they wear when they're out slavin'. Hah, they git those hoods over their heads all disguised an' quiet, an' then they pounce on some innocent creature. Some of the hordebeasts were taken that way, too. I'm tellin' ye, 'tis sad!"

Melanda gripped his paw. "Hush, here comes Leersnout!"

The large, gangly rat cracked his wip smartly over the pair's heads. "Yew jus' shut yer gobs an' git ter work! No more talkin' fer th' rest o' th' mornin', d'yew 'ere me?"

Gorsepaw and Melanda replied by lowering their heads and applying their full attention to the task before them.

††

Melanda flopped down on her little pile of scratchy, smelly straw. It had been a long day, her third in the slave lines. Only one break had been called at noon, and even that was barely more than ten minutes long. Her back ached from bending over for hours at a time, and two red welts, little gifts from Leersnout and other slave drivers, now decorated her sagging shoulders. The halter and harness, always rather aggravating with just being on her to remind her of her captivity, were wearing into her flesh painfully. A thin trickle of blood flowed out from her forehead where her halter had rubbed it raw. Another searing pain came from her hip, were she had cut herself when she fell onto a sharp piece of flint on the path.

Trying to ignore her hurts, Melanda stared about her cell. It was a tiny space, only six paces long and four paces wide. A door of wood with a window crisscrossed with metal bars filled one of the short sides and opened out onto the aisle. On either side of the door was a shallow bucket or pan. One contained lukewarm water, which was supposed to be kept full at all times, but the fillers often slacked off. The other was filled twice a day with the meager mush and dry vegetable tops with which the slaves were fed. The only furnishing in the cell was the little pile of musty straw against the back wall that served as a bed.

If Melanda pressed herself against the door, she could see the metal coverings over the pans. These were set half in and half out of the wall, so that they could be filled from the outside. Over the outside halves were set metal grilles, ensuring that the contained slave could not reach their paw out and open the lock. Even the hinges of the door were on the outside, and the door fitted tightly into the doorframe. There was no chance of forcing an escape from the cell.

There were many such cells, built into the stony wall of the gorge. Rows of the prison-like cells made up a kind of building, with only one entrance or exit. There were six rows of cells, each row being sixty cells long. Aisles ran between every pair of rows and were connected by corridors. The central aisle had the only exit; a stout oaken door that was heavily guarded on the outside.

There were two of these "rowhouses." Both had the same system of security. Every aisle was split into two blocks, each block consisting of sixty cells, thirty on each side. Two guards were stationed in each block to ensure that the slaves did not attempt conversation and to prevent escape. If there was a case of emergency, the guards would rush to a cord in the middle of their block and pull it. The cord was connected to a bell just outside the rowhouse door. When the cord was pulled, the ringing bell would alert the half-score or so sentries and send them dashing in to aid the distressed guards. The system went so far as to number the blocks, and the bell to each block had that number written below it.

Oh, how the slaves hated those rowhouses! They seemed to strip the slaves of whom they were; their sanity, their freedom, even their name. To accomplish this last, numbered plates were fastened to the cell doors. Each slave was assigned a cell, and the number of that cell was attached to the slave's harness. From that day forward, the slave was called by that number. Melanda was still adjusting to the system, and it infuriated her. Being called seventeen all day was enough to drive her crazy. Was she no better than a stone or tree, to be numbered like this?

The squirrelmaid let out a sigh of frustration. Sitting upright, she clasped her legs with her paws and rested her chin on her knees. If she could only think! She had to find a way to escape!

But she knew it was fruitless. The rowhouses were set in the solid earth, after all. The walls, floors, and ceiling were of solid stone, and the inner framework of cell walls of sturdy wood. Any opening to the cells, such as a door or feeding pan, was firmly covered with a metal grille and locked tight. Everything was inspected constantly to guarantee that nothing had been tampered with.

Melanda leaned back against the musty-smelling straw, ignoring the odor that closed over her like a wave. She allowed her mind to drift to happier times, when she could run free without restraint.

Maybe Gorsepaw's dreams weren't so fruitless . . . maybe there was a way out . . .

††

Forsythia was an important creature in Valamarus. For the past three seasons, she had been the personal advisor to Malus Deathclaw. A duty many would have avoided like the plague, but Forsythia enjoyed it. Besides, because of this high-ranking status she was considered one of the "Royals." This class of elites had every luxury they could wish for, and more. They were the occupants of the castle of Valamarus, which was located on the island in the middle of the raging stream that ran through the center of the gorge. There, slaves waited at their beck and call. They were served the best food that the kitchens could provide, and lived in the greatest comfort imaginable.

Forsythia was startlingly beautiful, with deep black eyes, thick, glossy fur, and a slim, graceful figure. The back of her body was a rich chocolate brown that was almost sable. Her front was snowy white, but this was usually covered by a long, cream-colored dress that rippled with many folds, tucks, and billows. Around her neck hung a huge ruby that dangled from a golden chain, and on her wrists were decorative cuffs of gold, edged with tiny rubies. She was a stunning sight, and was the belle of Malus' court.

The graceful, exquisite mouse stood on one of the many balconies of the castle. She was worried. One of her team had stumbled and injured their leg. They wouldn't be able to work until their injury healed, and that would take at least a week. She needed a replacement immediately, but the substitute would have to be as attractive as her standards allowed. She had been looking about that day, and she had found just the right creature.

She just had to get them.

Forsythia turned with a graceful swirl of her flowing dress and hurried inside. She made her way through the twisting corridors of Castle Valamarus, not glancing at the guards that stood on duty by each doorway. Her elegant muzzle seemed to tilt a little higher each time those lowly hordebeasts saluted her. She was a proud, vain creature who lived life for the pleasures of the earth.

As she crossed the western drawbridge of the castle, Forsythia nearly collided with another beast. She nodded coolly to the vole, weighing him up with a quick glance. He was of a reasonable rank, a Captain; that she gleaned from the red sash that ran crosswise across his chest. He was also a strong warrior and fighter. The scars that traced his sturdy form and the muscles that rippled under his tan fur were more than enough to tell Forsythia that this was a creature she would rather not tangle with.

The elegant mouse touched the hilt of her slim rapier as she questioned the vole. "State your name, Captain."

The vole bowed, rather stiffly. "Marcius, milady. I trust that I am no' wanted?"

Forsythia thought quickly. "Actually, Captain, yes you are. Do you have any authority over the assignments of the slaves?"

Marcius gave a brief dip of his head. "I'm in charge o' the slaves, milady."

Forsythia nodded. "Good. One of my chariot team has gone lame, and I need a replacement. I was watching the slaves today, and I saw a squirrelmaid with fur the color of fire in one if the lines. I want it to be my replacement."

Marcius frowned in concentration. "Did it look rather fresh, no' starved an' skinny like the rest?"

Forsythia nodded in confirmation. "Aye, that it was."

Marcius beckoned her. "Follow me."

The vole led the way through the many huts of the common hordebeasts towards the western rowhouse. The sun had dipped below the horizon by now, and Forsythia had to narrow her eyes to see clearly. She shuddered as she skirted a mud puddle in the middle of the path. What filth!

Marcius was apparently oblivious to it all and continued on at a steady, unfaltering pace. He remained silent throughout the walk, and it quickly became apparent to Forsythia that he was not one of the chattering types.

When they reached the western rowhouse, Marcius beckoned to one of the guards who seemed to be in charge. "Porfon, give me the keys. No, not that bunch, the other one."

Porfon handed over the bunch of keys, and Marcius led Forsythia into the rowhouse. It was dark, save for the occasional lantern that a guard had lit, and the elegant mouse shuddered in the dark, dank enclosure. As long as this was the slave quarters, she was happy.

Marcius stopped in front of one of the cells. He allowed Forsythia a few moments to look into the tiny enclosure to indentify the slave before he lifted the latch.

Forsythia smiled for the first time since she had met Marcius. "Well done, Captain. This is the one I wanted. Bring it out and I'll put it in my private cells."

Marcius unlocked cell seventeen and led the slave out.

_

* * *

Sorry about the long wait for the update. Don't ask for an explanation. Packing for Thanksgiving vacation._

_Okay, for clarifications. The gorge that is called Valamarus (and the kingdom is also called Valamarus) is, in Malus' time, a mile wide, five miles long, and fifty feet deep. On the outside of the gorge, the ground slopes away from the rim (imagine that one side of a hill vanished, leaving the slope and earth on the other side. That's what it looks like.) The rim itself has a wooden support framework (kind of like a deck) and there's a stone-combo-wood wall some ways beyond the rim to act as a blockade. To get out of the gorge there's only four gates, which are heavily guarded day and night._

_A stream (okay, call it a river if you like, it's as strong as one and it's at least twenty feet across) runs through the middle of the gorge. At about the center of the gorge, the stream splits into two and forms an island. This is more for show then protection, but it serves as a kind of barrier between the common horde, who live around the island, and the "Royals," who live in the castle on the island._

_A river used to run through the then-valley, but Havern (the first ruler, remember) dammed (not the swear word) up the river, creating a huge lake behind the dam. The river now flowed about a mile away from its original course, but it was controlled by a "floodgate." There were two of these floodgates; one was built over the new river, and was always kept open. The other gate was over the old riverbed, and was always kept closed. No, the old riverbed wasn't filled in. The stream that now runs through the gorge comes from the lake behind the dam._

_I hope I was clear with the rowhouses (think of a horse stable that's been shrunk waaaay down), but if you're still confused e-mail me._

_I think I was clear about Melanda being slave number seventeen._

_Yes, there are bad woodlanders in this horde. They won't be shown as much, but there will be several key bad woodlanders. And there are also vermin slaves. They too won't be shown as much, but I think I'll be putting in at least one._

_Notice how Forsythia and Marcius call the slaves "it." They consider the slaves no better than an inanimate object._

_DON'T YOU DARE START! I know Redwall doesn't have chariots, but I like them! The kingdom of Valamarus is very Rome-and-Latin based (look at character names), and I liked the idea of the high-ranking creatures going about in state; riding in a chariot. They have teams of two to four slaves, and these slaves usually have to meet the rider's (owner's; again, think horses) qualifications. For example, they have to be good-looking, be handsomely muscled, and/or be of the same species and/or look almost identical (think identical twin otters, for example)._

_Forsythia's dress looks like a Roman toga (I like those, too)._

_Don't forget the poll!_

_~Foeseeker~_

_P.S. I may be starting one or both of my new stories soon. Look out of them; they're called __Silenced__ and __Twilight Eagle__._

_Whew!_


	35. From the Outside In

_34: From the Outside In_

Yoofus wiped a few crumbs from his whiskers, waving his paws distractedly as he interrupted Tergen for the third time. "Slow down, ye word-gushin' featherbag! Ye've got me tied in knots here! So, let me get this strait. Ye flew southeast an' found a giant gorge wid a nice gang o' vermin loiterin' about there. Then ye saw a bunch o' slaves an' a squirrel that might've been Melanda. So ye dashed back 'ere t' report t' me. Am I right?"

Tergen glared at the watervole. "Kerrrraaak! I have slain beasts for calling me 'featherbag!' But you are right. I did see gorge. Many vermin and slaves there, kerrrk!"

Yoofus twitched his whiskers to rid himself of a pesky fly. "Hmmm, this sounds interestin'. How long d'ye think it'd take me t' get there?"

Tergen spread his wings, showing off their impressive size. "It not take me long, but I fly. For you, it prob'ly take half-day, maybe little more." The goshawk gestured with his wingtip as he continued. "Go that way, east, until you find river Moss. Then follow it that way, south. You find gorge that way, not hard. I see you at north end of gorge, at big pine. You know it when you see it. Yakkaa!"

And with that the hawk soared into the sky, his last cry echoing back down to Yoofus. "Yeeeekkkaaaaahhh!"

The watervole shook his head as he watched the great bird vanish into the distance. With a shrug he turned away from the horizon and began the short task of packing up his breakfast. There was not much to pack; a flask of mint tea, a leftover acorn roll, a few bits of cheese, and a small wooden case of what Friar Glisum called "meal bits." These were made of herbs, dried fruit, and honey all packed together and dried in an oven. They were startlingly satisfying and a beast could go long distances on two or three.

Yoofus slung his small pack over his shoulder and scrambled down from his perch in a large oak. He had spent the night here to keep himself away from the grasp of foebeasts and to allow himself quick contact with Tergen. He was well versed in the art of treewhiffling, having both been instructed in it by champion squirrel climbers and having spent the last twenty or so seasons using trees as a quick getaway from his scenes of thieving.

Swinging himself silently out of the tree, Yoofus scanned the woodlands around him. Satisfied that he was not in the vicinity of a foebeast, the watervole set out with a jaunty step. His mood was far lighter then when he had left Redwall three days ago. In fact, he was feeling so lighthearted and free that he broke out into an old Mossflower ditty, well known by all woodlanders.

Follow the river, hither and yon,

Where a land is sheltered by a dove.

A place of liberty, freedom, justice,

Mossflower woods is the home that I love.

The trees stand tall,

Countless seasons old.

Goodbeasts till the land,

Both gentle and bold.

Many have come,

Many have gone.

But their legacy

Still lives on.

In this forest of right, we make our homes

Guarded by justice, not by the sword.

Foebeasts may come, oppressing all,

But we are watched over by the mountain, the Lord.

A place bought by blood,

By suffering, toil,

Now, out of red, it stands alone,

Protecting us, and this land's soil.

Mossflower woodlands,

How I love ye.

Guarded by the walls

And the place by the sea.

We will not bend to whips or chains.

Our roots may tremble, but we hold firm.

Bloodshed bought our freedom here,

And that flame in us still burns.

Yoofus found himself stepping along rapidly in time to the ditty's merry beat. Even though he had finished the lyrics, he continued to hum the tune as he moved through the woodlands. Danger meant little the the volethief, who had lived on the edge for the past twenty seasons.

He suddenly noticed pawsteps in time with is own. He spun on his heel, expecting to see a vermin of some sort tracking him. His dark brown eyes widened with surprise as he saw not a fox or weasel creeping up behind him with dagger drawn, but a cheerful-looking mouse wearing a jaunty green cap with a feather in it. in the mouse's paw was held a flute, which he was in the process of raising to his lips. He stopped when he saw Yoofus staring at him.

The mouse grinned, showing a set of strong white teeth. He tucked the flute into a small belt pouch, extending his right paw. "G'day t' ye, matey. What are ye doing out 'ere in the middle of Mossflower?"

Yoofus hesitantly shook the proffered paw, staring at the mouse. "G'day to ye too, mate. An' who are ye?"

The mouse gave a secritive smile, pulling the flute from his belt. "Oh, ye can just call me matey for the time being, Yoofus. Ye're looking for Melanda, I presume?"

Yoofus was flabbergasted. He spluttered wildly, "How – how d' ye know me name? An' what I'm doin'? How long have ye been followin' me?"

The mouse waved his paw, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, I have me ways, matey. As t' your last question, I've been following ye for some time now." He checked the watervole's outburst at his vague reply with a wave of his paw. "An' now, are ye going to keep searching? Tergen will meet you at the gorge, after all."

Yoofus' jaw was hanging so far down it looked as if it was going to hit the ground, but he managed to compose himself. "Er – ahem, aye, I am. Ye jus' startled me, that's all." He paused for a moment before he continued. "As we seem to be goin' in th' same direction, d' ye want t' travel with me?"

The mouse's smile broadened. "Of course, matey. In fact, I was planning to accompany you for quite a distance."

Yoofus was slightly puzzled by the stranger's tone, but with a shrug he started east again, this time with the strange mouse tagging alongside him. The volethief gradually found himself enjoying his strange companion's presence, for the mouse was not a chatterer like many traveling beasts. Instead, he tirelessly trilled on his flute for what seemed like hours, never repeating a ditty twice. Yoofus found himself humming along with several tunes, but most of the time they were unknown to him.

In a surprisingly short time they reached the river Moss. Yoofus immediately turned south when he neared the river, with the mouse following him closely. The watervole at first took no notice of his companion, being occupied in examining a collection of Guosim tracks in the muddy bank. When he did look back at the mouse, however, he was startled to see him tucking Yoofus' own sling into his belt pouch.

The watervole squared up to the mouse, narrowing his eyes in what he thought was an intimidating glare. "Gimme me sling back, ye whisker pinchin' sneak!"

The mouse tossed Yoofus' sling back to its owner, grinning broadly. "Whisker pincher . . . I like that! reminds em o' the time I tricked me darlin' wife into thinkin' I had stolen two of her whiskers. Haha, you should have seen her face!" The mouse half-closed his eyes as if envisioning the prank to every minute detail.

Yoofus shook his head, tugging his companion's paw. "Well, are ye helpin' me find Melanda or aren't ye?" As soon as he said this he realized that he had taken his companion for granted. How was he to know if the mouse really was helping him track down the squirrelmaid?

But the mouse snapped his eyes open and stepped out briskly. Yoofus saw his paw going towards his flute again as he called to the volethief, "O' course I am, matey. C'mon, let's see if'n we can make that gorge by sunset!"

††

Armel rummaged through her stock of herbs for the third time. She knew that she had already sent her assistant, Sister Mimsie, along with two Long Patrol escorts, out to gather more of those herbs that were scant on the shelves, but she was still poking through the boxes, bundles, and jars that ranged across the infirmary. The sole reason for her odd lack of diligence was a vain attempt to keep her mind from straying to thoughts of her daughter and husband. It was hard to keep a "stiff upper lip," as the hares said, but Armel had almost always been able to . . . in public.

In private was a different story. Ever since Tam had left Armel had spent more time then was usual for her alone in the infirmary, sorting herbs, cleaning bandages, and dusting off jars, shelves, books, and cupboards. When Melanda had disappeared the squirrelmum had broken down only once, when the terrible news that her daughter had been captured was broken to her. Ever since then she had forced herself to act as if nothing had happened, but it was hard. But now the concerns of Redwall were beginning to press in on her. Just this morning she had been talking with Abbot Humble and a question had arisen in their conversation; the Abbot's successor.

The elderly Humble had fondly expressed his hopes that Melanda might follow in his pawsteps; she had always been devoted to Redwall, and even at a young age she had shown an exceptional talent for kindly leadership. That had been almost too much for Armel, and she had rapidly turned the subject elsewhere.

But now the question was pestering Armel; who _would_ be Humble's successor? She was sure Melanda wouldn't want the task; the squirrelmaid had too much warrior blood in her. Several names were dancing about in Armel's head, but the squirrelmum kept discarding them as arguments against their assuming the lofty position of Abbot or Abbess.

The squirrelmum paused in the act of taking down a basket of dried lavender. What about Brother Demple? He was in his late middle seasons, wise, gentle, and all the other requirements that caused major stumbling blocks the the choosing of Redwall's next leader. The quiet gardener had never liked the thought of bloodshed, but in the Seasons of the Savage he had been a firm supporter of the Long Patrol's final vanquishing of Gulo's vermin after the murder of the hares' leader, Brigadier Crumshaw. Demple knew when attack was right, and also knew when to hold back. Excellent traits for an Abbot or Abbess of Redwall.

Armel mulled this possibility over as she absentmindedly rummaged through the lavender. This was an excellent choice. Demple, out of all the other Redwallers, was suited for the daunting task of Abbotship. Besides hs good judgment, the quiet, kindly Brother had a kind of appeal about him that drew others towards him. Armel had never heard him speak cruelly of another creature, nor had she ever seen him exchange blows with another. Yet the mouse always held himself well, as if he had a kind of royalty about him.

Armel's thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of the infirmary door. Sister Mimsie entered briskly, bearing a large wicker basket filled to bursting with herbs. The young mousemaid dropped her burden on the table with a thud, exclaiming, "By the seasons, I never dreamed a few herbs could be so heavy!" She swept off her long green cloak and hung it on a peg embedded in the wall. Her hazel eyes twinkled as she assisted Armel in unpacking the basket. Her face betrayed her excitement as she leaned towards the squirrelmum. "Armel, marm, I bumped into Tergen out on the lawn just a few moments ago. You'll never guess what he told me!"

Armel's heart skipped a beat, but she managed to keep her face calm. In as steady a voice as she could manage, she asked, "Well, then, tell me!"

Mimsie plucked a bundle of elm bark from the basket. She tossed it between her paws as she burst out, "He's found a vermin settlement with woodlanders all over the place. He said he didn't dare get close enough to confirm his findings, but he said he thought he saw Melanda there!"

Armel dropped a spray of mint leaves onto the table. Her grasp was firm as she gripped Mimsie's paws. "He's found Melanda? Was she well? Was she safe? What –"

Sister Mimsie shook her head. "Armel, marm, he said that the vermin might have shot him if'n he got close enough to confirm it. He said that he's going to go meet Yoofus near the vermin encampment and see if'n together they can find some answers."

††

The sun had set. Mossflower was settling itself into the cool folds of night and sleep as Yoofus Lightpaw balanced himself in the thick upper boughs of a massive pine tree, gazing down at the gorge of Valamarus, realm of Malus Deathclaw. The volethief's eyes coolly explored the scene below, scornfully taking note of the number of guards that paced the upper terraces of the gorge. His lip curled as he saw the four massive gates, built of iron and oak.

So this was the place. _He had a score to settle . . ._

The volethief retreated back into the dense tent of pine needles, where his mysterious companion was spreading their meal on a thick tree limb. The mouse looked up as Yoofus approached. His face was oddly calm as he summed up Yoofus' thoughts. "So, you have a daunting task ahead?" He drew a small dagger from his belt, slicing a lump of cheese into thin slabs. He speared one on the dagger point, offering it to Yoofus. "You'll never do your job well if'n ye don't eat something, matey."

Yoofus accepted the food distractedly, his thoughts elsewhere as he bit into the sage and acorn studded cheese. He was silent as the mouse passed him an oat farl and several pieces of celery from the last of the supplies in the watervole's haversack. Subconsciously Yoofus realized that the mouse had no haversack of foodstuffs and wondered if he foraged for his meals.

The volethief turned back to the view of the gorge. He was overawed by the sheer size of the place; at a mile wide, five miles long, and fifty feet deep, it was an immense piece of engeneering work that had evidently taken generations to make. Yoofus wondered if such a secure fortress, dug into the earth itself, could possibly be taken over by anything less then a horde of badgers in full bloodwrath.

The swish of wings startled him into looking up. Tergen was just making his landing on the tree limb above, a small pack dangling from one of his talons. The watervole gestured to the mouse to stay where he was, although the mouse had made no sign of an attempt to rise. As soon as the goshawk's wings were tucked against his sides, Yoofus scrambled up to Tergen's branch. He nodded towards the mouse, who was apparently relaxed in the presence of the savage bird. "That 'un's fine, Tergen. Don't bother yer head about 'im. What's the pack?"

Tergen held up the small pack, passing it to the vole. "Friar Glisum told me to give it to you, Yoofus. Kerchaaa! It have more food and drink inside, an' new tunic." Tergen ruffled his feathers and moved a step down the branch, muttering under his breath, "Hah! Silly earthcrawler, wear bits of cloth to keep warm! Why not grow feathers? Keerrrrack!"

Ignoring the bird, Yoofus leaped down to the thick bough where the mouse was settled, apparently enjoying a mouthful of celery. The watervole busied himself moving the supplies from the small pack into his haversack to ease the strain of carrying. He then bolted down another piece of cheese and an oat farl, grabbing a stalk of celery as he slung his haversack over his shoulder.

The mouse saw what he was doing and also rose. He wrapped the last few pieces of the meal in the cloth that has served as a table and tucked the bundle into the haversack. Then he checked his dagger. "Are ye ready, matey?"

Yoofus was already lowering himself to the next branch. "Sure, ye're jokin' matey? What does it look like I'm doing, takin' a nap?"

When they finally reached the ground, Yoofus turned to the mouse. "Are ye up fer some really dangerous work, mate?"

The mouse grinned in reply. "Danger is me middle name, mate!"

Yoofus waved to Tergen, who was flying in slow, lazy circles overhead. "Tergen, will ye circle th' edge of the gorge? See if'n ye can find a weak spot where we could slip through."

Tergen dipped his wing, confirming that he had heard. Without a sound he flapped his wings once, soaring up into the cloudy night sky.

The mouse peered upwards, tracking the hawk's progress. "Well, he should be back afore too long. By the seasons, we're in for a storm soon!" He pointed at the ominous clouds that, even in the dark of night, were blacker then the shadowy sky.

Yoofus nodded, he mind crowded with memories of the day that his son was stolen. "Aye, if'n it's a heavy rain we should be able t' get in an' out without much trouble. That's if'n there's enough thunder to cover our pawsteps."

The mouse blinked as the first drop of rain splattered on his face. He winked at Yoofus. "Looks like your wish is coming true, matey!"

††

Melanda threw herself down on her pile of straw, her breath ragged in her throat. Every bone in her body ached from the punishing work she had been throwing herself into all day. Her harness was rubbing painfully against her ribs where it had chafed her flesh raw. The halter too was pressing painfully against her, the cheekstraps digging into her face. But it was her lower jaw that hurt the most. Forsythia, the cruel mouse who had drafted Melanda into her chariot team, had forced the squirrelmaid to wear a second halter over her usual one. This halter had the addition of a copper bar that fitted inside the squirrelmaid's mouth, and at each end of the bar was fused a metal ring. Reins were slid through these rings, and Forsythia used them to steer. The pain of the sawing bit and the jerking reins, coupled with treatment worthy of a dumb animal, was enough to drive Melanda frantic.

But pulling Forsythia's chariot around Valamarus all day was more then enough to completely exhaust her. Without so much as a glance at her feeding pans, the squirrelmaid stared hollow-eyed at the wooden ceiling. Not a thought crossed her mind; she was too tired even to think.

How long she lay there she did not know. But finally her ravenous hunger and parching thirst forced Melanda to drag herself over to the feeding pans. There was just enough in both to somewhat cull her appetite. That was the sole advantage of being on a chariot team; the food and water were better and more plentiful.

Melanda glanced across the isle at her fellow chariot team member, a mouse named Dilnrae. His fur was an unusual orange shade, mirroring his personality, which was as tough, strong, and hot-tempered as his fur color suggested. He had lasted far longer as a chariot puller then the vermin had expected, for the spirit- shattering task was enough to break a creature within a month or two. He had hardly spoken to Melanda, but when he did it was in a gruff, crude tone. The squirrelmaid could tell that, even though his spirit hadn't yet broken, his physical attributes were beginning to give way.

The squirrelmaid shifted her gaze to the cell to the right of Dilnrae. In this cell was held a ferret, with the same orange fur as Melanda and Dilnrae. He had twisted his ankle the day before while pulling the chariot, thus putting himself out of commission for a few days. He hadn't even looked at Melanda thus far, and the only thing she knew about him was that he was called, by the vermin, "197."

The squirrelmaid sighed with exasperation at her hopeless situation. She inspected her cell for the second time, looking for any weak points. None. It was maddening being shut in like a canned tomato, not even being allowed to be treated like an individual. _Garbage_. That was all the Valamarus slaves were considered. _Garbage_.

"Psst!"

Melanda sat up, staring about her in search of the voice. It had certainly not come from the two beasts who slouched across the isle from her; rather, it came from the other side of the wall, from the outside.

The squirrelmaid pressed her mouth against a hairline crack in the wall, whispering in as low a voice as she could manage, "Who are you?" Silently she prayed that the creature outside would hear her.

As if in a dream, the voice answered back. "Yoofus. Yer ma an' the Abbot sent me t' get ye. Are there any guards in your sight?"

Melanda nearly fainted with shock. She hissed back urgently, "Yoofus, get yourself out of here! These vermin'll capture you as soon as look at you!"

Yoofus answered her in a dry tone. "Don't worry about me, miz Melanda. Jus' tell me if'n ye can see any guards."

Puzzled but obedient, Melanda whispered back, "Yes. There are two ratguards standing by the open doorway, to your right. What do you plan to do?"

There was no answer. Melanda waited a few moments, confused. Her whirling thoughts were satsified a moment later, however, when one of the guards sighed and slumped to the ground. Melanda spun to peer out the window in her door, watching in fascination as the other ratguard bent to shake his partner. "Thak? Are ya all right, ma –"

He was cut off as a slingstone whizzed through the air and struck him at the base of the skull. The rat too slumped down, out cold for the rest of the night.

Dilnrae and the ferret glanced up at the sounds of the guards collapsing. But neither of them was as surprised as Melanda when, dripping from the rain that bucketed down outside, Yoofus Lightpaw slipped into the small cell block. He pressed himself against the wall, a mere smudge in the vague light that seeped in from the distant lights of the vermin dwellings and the moon's single ray that penetrated the thick, cotton-like clouds.

Melanda grasped her cell bars. "Yoofus!" she hissed under her breath, "What in the name of seasons do you think you're doing?"

Yoofus' teeth glimmered briefly out of the black shadow that was him as he grinned back at her. "I'm freein' ye, an' yer two pals o'er there."

Upon hearing this the ferret pressed himself up against his door, rasping out in a hoarse voice, "You – you free Nadin?"

Dilnrae reacted differently. Drawing back to the rear of his cell, he charged forward and smashed himself against his cell door. Luckily a crash of thunder sounded just as he did so, deadening the sound. The fire-furred mouse snarled wildly, "Let me go! Vermin must pay! All pay! I tear them apart!"

Yoofus replied in hushed tones to the mouse's outburst. "Hush, mate. If'n ye want t' get out o' here, ye'd better keep the noise down. Now, when I let ye out, ye stay right where ye are until I give ye th' all-clear; but even then ye must do only what I tell ye t' do."

Dilnrae growled back at him, "I not slave to anybeast! I not obey ya!"

Yoofus replied in a reasonable tone, but with an edge to it. "If'n ye don't obey me ye die. I'm going to get ye away from here, but you can come back larter when ye're stronger to have at it with the vermin."

As the volethief dripped oil into the hinges and latch of her cell door to prevent squeaking, Melanda questioned him. "Did anybeast come with you, Yoofus?"

Yoofus replied without looking up from his work. "Aye, Tergen came with me, an' a mouse joined me partway along. Never saw the beast in me life afore, but he said that he 'ad been told t' accompany me. Nice creature he is, always tootling away on his flute. He's standin' guard outside."

Melanda peered out the doorway, where nothing was visible but the sky, gorge wall, and a few vermin dwellings. She voiced her confusion to the volethief. "I don't see anybeast out there."

Yoofus moved across the isle to oil the hinges and latches of Dilnrae's and Nadin's cells. "Oh, he's probably just around the door. There's some bushes out there; he might be hiding under them."

Melanda was silent, mulling over this bit of information. She was distracted by Yoofus, who approached her cell again. Without a sound he lifted the latch and slid the door open just wide enough for him to slip inside.

Yoofus frowned when, for the first time, he saw clearly the squirrelmaid's face. "Melanda, what's that thing on yer head?"

Melanda growled low in her throat. "That's a halter. The vermin stuffed it onto me when I first came here." She gestured to her chest. "They shoved this harness on me, to."

Yoofus made a_ tsk tsk_ sound. Whipping out his tiny dagger, he began sawing away at the squirrelmaid's bonds. It took several long, agonizing moments, but the sharp little piece of metal finally snicked through the last strands of fur. The halter fell away from Melanda's face, releasing her of its hated grip.

It was some time before Yoofus had finished removing both halters and harnesses from the trio, but all were glad of the delay. By the time the last piece of fur rope had been cut through, the storm was raging in earnest. Fat droplets of rain burst on ground, roof, and bush, turning dirt to mud and hollow to lake. Thunder boomed and rumbled through the clouds, accompanied by blinding flashes of lightning. The tempest showed no signs of letting up in the next few hours, promising excellent cover for the four fugitives.

Yoofus loaded his sling, passing his dagger to Melanda. He glanced apologetically at the mouse and the ferret. "Sorry, mates, but I'm no walkin'armory. Here, take those ratguards' spears; they'll do fer ye." While the two picked up the spears, the volethief turned back to the open doorway. His face was a mixture of excitement, fear, anticipation, and anger as he muttered to Melanda, "Well, we can't back out o' this now. Let's start this show!"

* * *

_Hey, I'm alive! I am REALLY sorry about this awfully late update. I really just . . . oh, I really . . . ARRRGH!!! (just kidding, but it HAS been wild.)_

_I'm going to make this short, so ask your questions in your reviews._

_Merry (late) Christmas and a happy new year!_

_~Foeseeker~_

_P.S. look out for the next Silenced chapter; I'm working on it now, though the dreaded midterms are coming up, so it might be late._


	36. There is a Darkness

_35: There is a Darkness_

Lin dashed for the hatch, partly of her own accord and partly swept along with the panicked flow of black squirrels. Everybeast was intent on getting down to the lower decks and setting out the oars. Behind them the tornado still howled like somebeast demented, and it was all the squirrelmaid could do to keep from crying out in fear and panic.

For she had never felt fear quite like this. When she saw her family slain by Groomyer, she had felt some degree of fear, yes, but then it was overwhelmed by the anger that had hit her like a tidal wave. Then there was the shipwreck. That had been enough to terrify anybeast, but Lin hadn't had time to think about the fear then; she had been battling for survival against a nearly impossible enemy, the sea. When she had almost died on the riverbank, and again when she rescued Kitt from the abbey pond, she had felt a strange fear, more of her own body in its weakened state then any real immediate physical harm.

But now, with that twisting funnel of spinning death moving tauntingly closer every moment, and she hopeless to do anything to stop it, brought to Lin a new kind of fear, the fear of a strange realization. She was helpless to assist any of her companions. That moving death-dealing column of grey water was unstoppable, and even the strength of a thousand squirrels might not be able to row the tossing cockleshell ships away from the danger in time. It was both frightening and awe-inspiring, in its own strange way.

"Lin!"

Lin spun around at Captain Nauctus' call. The aging seagoing veteran was putting all his might into holding the tiller steady, but he was rapidly loosing the battle. The jerking tiller was like a rodeo bull that was kicking to get out of its pen, and the gate was about to give way. The sight almost drained Lin completely of hopes of their escape from the living nightmare, but upon seeing the Captain's steady, calm face, she gained that confidence again.

Dragging herself along the rail until she reached the faithful old squirrel, she shouted above the roar of the storm, "Do you need help?"

Nauctus nodded, thundering through clenched teeth, "Git Tam an' Doogy, or one o' those hares if'n ye can find 'em, an' join us yerself if ye can. Anybeast! Hurry!" He was forced to cut himself short as the tiller gave a sharp warning buck, but Lin had heard all she needed. She was off, half running, half crawling along the deck until she came to the hatch. Wearily, but fired by a sense of urgency, the black squirrelmaid dashed along as fast as she could towards the second ladder that led down into the galley decks.

Rounding a corner, she nearly knocked heads with Crosow. The burly young hare was apparently on his way to the oar benches, but he stopped when he saw Lin's face.

"Why, Lin, wot's the matter? We sinkin', wot?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lin couldn't help but smile at the hare's never-failing wry sense of humor. "No, Crosow. Captain Nauctus is in urgent need of help at the tiller. You need to get up there immediately and help him. Don't talk, run!"

Crosow detected the note of urgency in Lin's voice, and responded in short and minced words. "I'm off; won't leave the post unless I'm swept flippin' well overboard, wot wot!" The last few words were shouted over his shoulder, for he was off in rapid course for the deck and the tiller.

Lin sighed, and then turned back to her task. Where was Tam? She suspected that he would be down in the galley, assisting with the oars. It would be just like him, she thought with a wry smile.

And she was right. Only a few moments later, as she scrambled awkwardly down the ladder to the deck below, she saw Tam's red fur flashing boldly from behind several rows of black squirrels. She hurried over to him as quickly as the ship's rolling would allow. "Tam! Tam! Captain Nauctus needs you up on deck as quickly as you can. It's an emergency!"

Tam's flashing brown eyes looked up from the oar he was pushing grimly. Lin could tell that his warrior blood was up by the daring gleam in his eyes. "He does, eh? Well, tell me what's wrong while we're headin' up there."

As the pair dashed helter-skelter down the ship's belly on the route to the deck, Lin hastily explained what was going on. "Captain Nauctus is loosing control of the tiller; it's a job for three badgers. Crosow is up there helping him, but the Captain's exhausted."

Tam didn't answer with words, but the way his jaw was set and the glitter in his eye were response enough.

When they reached the deck, Lin realized with horror that the tornado was gaining on them. The gigantic waves, thrown up by the sea, crashed against the ship's sides, some actually smashing down on the deck itself. The wind screamed through the rigging, and the swirling spray and mist that engulfed the whole fleet added a truly eerie feeling to the entire scene. It actually might have been quite beautiful if it had been painted and hung on a wall, but living in the moment was starkly terrifying.

Lin shook her head to clear these swirling thoughts, glancing around to find that Tam had already worked his way over to the tiller and was gently but firmly pushing the Captain onto a handy coil of rope. Then the mist thickened as a wave crashed against the port side of the stern, and Lin momentarily lost sight of the little group at the tiller.

Pulling herself into a standing position, the squirrelmaid was about to haul herself over to the tiller to lend a paw when a shriek, piercing enough to reach her ears over the howling gale, rang out. Lin spun around, searching for the source of the sound.

Slarave was lying flat on the deck, gripping the rail with one paw and scrabbling at a heavy coil of rope with the other. Her left footpaw was apparently caught in the rope, and the black squirrel was prevented from standing erect by the snarl. She was struggling in vain, however, for her death-grip on the rail with her other paw naturally prevented her body from bending into the necessary position to allow her to reach the trapped footpaw.

Lin narrowed her eyes, a growl forming in her throat. She disliked Slarave. The black Foeseeker leader had never attempted to make herself popular in the squirrelmaid's eyes, and she always seemed to be slipping about with a sly air about her. Lin had caught her once or twice whispering with one or more of those five squirrels who seemed to act as her bodyguard, and they always stopped whenever Lin came into sight. It bothered the squirrelmaid, but she had always shrugged the thought off.

But now – should Lin leave Slarave to her own fate, or should she assist her? The squirrelmaid shook her head as she argued with her thoughts. No matter how much she disliked the black squirrel, she couldn't just leave her to be swept overboard. That would almost be cold-blooded murder. Lin gripped the hatch door for a moment, getting her balance, and then started across the deck towards Slarave.

"Lin? What are you doing?"

The squirrelmaid glanced over her shoulder, and then grinned when she met Oakfur's worried black gaze. She flicked her sodden tail towards where Slarave lay, still struggling with the rope. "I was just going over there to get her loose. The rope's caught around her footpaw."

Oakfur frowned. "Lin, Slarave hates you. Why are you helping her?"

Lin looked away, searching for an answer. "Wouldn't you want help?" she said finally.

Without waiting for her friend to reply, Lin started again across the deck towards Slarave. It was tricky going. Every few moments the ship would quiver from the impact of a wave, and the violent up-and-down motion was enough to throw a less agile beast overboard. To top it off, the deck was as slippery from the seawater as if it had been buttered. Lin had to dig with her claws occasionally to keep her footpaws on the boards. A scrabbling sound behind her caused Lin to glance over her shoulder. Oakfur was close on her heels, fearful but loyal. The squirrelmaid felt a quick flash of pride towards her friend. He never gave up.

A quivering of the ship's frame sent them both crashing to the deck. A particularly large wave had just struck the starboard bow, and the entire hull of the _Dawn Queen_ had rolled dangerously onto its port side. Lin gripped the deck with her claws, drawing her axe in case she needed to sink its silver edge into the deck planks as an emergency lifeline. A brief glimpse over her shoulder told her that Oakfur had also drawn his dagger and was ready to drive it into the woodwork in a desperate attempt to save his life.

Then the ship righted itself. Lin scrabbled forward, half walking and half crawling, throwing her body forward the last few paces and grabbing at the rail. Oakfur crashed against the rail a few paces away, gripping to the upright supports firmly. Lin saw his dagger flash out and sink into the deck.

Relieved that her friend was safe, Lin turned to see what could be done about Slarave. The Foeseeker leader had been jarred when the ship lurched, and the coil of rope had shifted farther away from her. Even now, when the ship was reasonably steady, Slarave still retained her grip on the rail as she slapped haphazardly at the rope. Lin couldn't resist a snort of contempt at the other squirrel's cowardice. Her dislike of Slarave growing by the moment, the squirrelmaid pulled herself forward and easily worked the loop of rope off of Slarave's footpaw.

The moment she was free Slarave sprang to her paws. Her eyes gleaming, she whipped out her favorite dagger. Two of the squirrels who acted as her bodyguard sprang forward and seized Oakfur, holding him firmly. Slarave nodded to them, her eyes glittering with triumph.

Lin also leaped up, astonishment and an angry fear running through her. She gazed steadily at Slarave. "What is the meaning of this?"

Slarave grinned, a wicked gleam sparkling in her black eyes. "It's time you were put out of my way, squirrelmaid!" She darted forward, her dagger shining a sickly color in the strange light of the storm.

The ship lurched again, rocking dangerously as another wave smashed against it.

Slarave's balance had already been precarious before the deck moved under her paws. When the wave struck the ship, she had been on one footpaw as she bounded towards Lin. The movement of the _Dawn Queen_ sent her crashing against the ship's rail. The dagger fell from her paw as a cry of pure fear and horror escaped her mouth, her body plummeting towards the hungry waves.

For a moment Lin simply stood, staring at the place where the Foeseeker leader had stood a moment before. The roar of the column of water and vapor seemed to howl with laughter, echoed by the yawning gulf of waves that churned and moaned under the ship. Even the rain seemed to be shrieking with laugher as it rasped down on the deck and the little group of drenched squirrels, the tiny droplets lashed into wet daggers by the screaming wind.

Then Lin's eyes narrowed and a smile of pure evil crept over her face. Slarave had finally got what she deserved. She only wished that she could have killed Slarave by her own paw, slowly and painfully. There had been a large score to settle between them, but no matter. Slarave would be crushed, pounded, drowned beneath the waves. Her fate suited one of her life, a liar, cheater, and self-centered tyrant. Even though she had been only slightly more than ten seasons older than Lin, she had already shown the pure lines of a warlord. The squirrelmaid's eyes glittered, and for an instant the waves seemed to be tinged with a pinkish hue, as if the clouds had broken and a magnificent sunset was reflecting off their foamy crests. In celebration of a traitor's death, perhaps?

"You are no better than Groomyer! Go after her!"

Lin stared about, wondering who had spoken. For a brief instant she thought she saw a tall, powerful black female squirrel standing beside her, her black eyes staring at and into Lin. Then she vanished. For a moment Lin thought that it was Slarave, the memory of the former Foeseeker leader haunting her. But the regal lift of the squirrel's chin and the way she carried herself with a strange power was more than enough to dispel this thought.

And then Lin was moving. Without knowing exactly how or why she was doing it – perhaps unseen paws guided her through the motions – she had snatched the coil of rope that Slarave had been tangled in. Swiftly looping one end firmly around her waist and the other end around the rail, Lin threw her axe to the deck and then paused. Her eyes met Oakfur's, and she saw fear, trust, and something else there. Then she leaped.

The ship seemed to fly by her, the hungry black water churning and growling as she rushed towards it. When she struck the surface she subconsciously noticed that the water was not as cold as she had expected, and the temperature was not enough to put pressure on her lungs. Then all thoughts were wiped from her mind as her head went under and the powerful current, flowing relentlessly towards the spinning column of water and danger. She struck out wildly for the surface, her paws paddling strongly to make up for the drag of her tail.

Lin's head broke the surface, and she gasped in a single deep breath. The life-giving air filled her chest, and she paused for a moment as she tried to recollect exactly why she had jumped into the wildly crashing surf.

A wail of fear, almost drowned in the roar of the storm, brought back her memory. Lin turned in the direction of the cry and was rewarded by a glimpse of Slarave's black head bobbing on an almost equally black wave. For a moment, Lin again saw that faint sunset tinge to the wavecrests as the urge to abandon Slarave to her fate swept over her again. And again the words echoed in her ear; "You are no better than Groomyer! Go after her!"

With this burning thought ringing in her head, Lin struck out towards Slarave. It would have been almost impossible save for the current that flowed towards the tornado. Even so, Lin was ducked several times, often loosing her track of Slarave. The other squirrel, being born and bred in the Northlands where swimming was almost unheard of, apparently was barely able to get her head up enough to breathe.

A wave crashed over Lin, sending her down for several moments. When she did manage to resurface, Slarave was even farther off, tossing about on the foaming crest of another rolling wave. The idea to abandon Slarave returned yet again to Lin's mind, but with it came that burning phrase; "You are no better than Groomyer!"

Lin shook her head, pushing herself into motion again. She was gaining on Slarave; the Foeseeker leader was apparently making a feeble attempt to swim back towards the _Dawn Queen_, but although she was failing miserably, she at least was giving Lin a few extra seconds of time. And even now, the tornado was getting closer with every second and half second.

Slarave suddenly gave a gurgling cry – clearly audible to Lin even over the noise of the sea and storm – and vanished beneath the surface of the water. Lin swam harder, all her swimming skills from her younger days coming back to her. Remembering a favorite technique of her brother's, she took a deep breath and swung both her arms around from behind, pointing her paws towards the water's surface. She slid into the wet liquid with almost no effort, gliding forward with all the grace and skill of an otter.

The water was dark and murky, churned into a thick, dark soup by the waves and storm; so dark, in fact, that Lin could barely see more than a spearlength ahead. Her footpaws moved easily in a froglike kick, moving her swiftly forward under the waves. Accustomed to the habits and movements of the sea by countless hours of romping in the surf, she avoided throwing much energy into her movements. She knew that the sea drained strength faster than water gushing over a waterfall. Already, her limbs were beginning to feel tired.

A sharp crack against her skull made her rush to the surface with a gasp, the thing, whatever it was, being pushed up by her shoulder. Her head, although not throbbing, stung uncomfortably and felt as if somebeast had pricked it with a needle. Lin momentarily floundered with her paws as she felt about for whatever had struck her.

He paw closed around drenched fur and limp flesh. Slarave, unconscious and breathing unsteadily, floated half under and half on the surface. Her fur was plastered to her body, her tunic ripped at the shoulder. A sound in her throat, somewhere between a cough and a gasp, made Lin realize that the Foeseeker leader was half drowned.

For some reason, Lin found herself oddly calm. She gripped Slarave by the tunic with one paw, hauling her towards the squirrelmaid's body. Once Lin had her right arm around Slarave's shoulders, she twisted about in her rope belt and tugged on the line that led to the ship with all her might. Once. Twice. Thrice.

She knew there was no prearranged signal, but she was not surprised when, a moment later, she felt the rope about her waist tighten and felt the current of the water start to drag against her. Kicking out with her three free paws, she tried to assist the beasts pulling her by reducing the drag of her body.

What seemed like hours later, but was probably only a few minutes, Lin found herself leaning against the _Dawn Queen's_ rail, gasping for breath and watching the tornado fading away to a few mere ripples, and then even those vanishing. The clouds, although by no means gone, had turned from the midnight-black cloak of ten minutes before to a normal light grey storm cloud color. The rain still fell, but now it was less like tiny arrows and more like a soft summer shower. Even the wind had slacked off to a steady, damp puff, and with it the ships skipped along like dibbuns across the slackening waves.

Oakfur scrambled out of the lower decks, bringing with him a soft blanket. He passed it to Lin, saying with a shy grin, "Here, dry yourself off; Rhulna said they've just come out of a trunk, so they're nice and fresh. Oh, I put your axe on your bunk when I fetched that blanket, if you were wondering."

Lin smiled at him as she rubbed her damp fur vigorously with the soft blanket. "Thanks, Oakfur. Say, where's Tam and the Captain?"

"Still over by the tiller. I think they lost control at one point, when the ship gave that buck and Slarave fell overboard, and the tiller snapped around and hit Nauctus in the head. He's been out cold for several minutes. Tam's at the helm right now, and Nauctus is –"

"Right behind ye, lad!"

Lin burst out laughing as Oakfur whipped around so fast that he nearly tripped over his own tail. Captain Nauctus stood there, sporting a makeshift bandage on his head and grinning broadly as he toyed with something in his belt. "Oakfur, matey, ye really need tae learn when there's another creature near ye so ye don't break somethin'. It might be your nose next time when ye fall flat on it." He turned to Lin, suddenly becoming serious as he tossed the squirrelmaid the knife that Slarave had dropped onto the deck when she fell over the rail. "Lin, what d'ye want us tae do with Slarave?"

Lin the knife and tucked it into her belt. She stiffened at the mention of the Foeseeker leader, but she quickly reached a decision. "Put her in her cabin with two guards stationed just inside the door, and maybe two out in the passage. She's not in any condition to pull a trick herself, but she might get those pals of hers to try something. Anyhow, tell me when she comes around; I want words with her."

_

* * *

Okay, guys, I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry for the long wait for an update! First my mom's computer crashed, so I had no internet access, and then the charger cord for my tape-and-string laptop (where I do all my writing) snapped with the battery on nil when I had almost finished this chapter! AAARRRRRHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Okay, now that I'm done with my apologies and ranting, I have a few things to say about this chapter. First, there is a hint to something in Lin's nature that is more than her nature. Anyone pick it up? And second, I hope Lin doesn't seem like the all-perfect hero anymore. Does she, Jade? Anyway, I plan on editing this story once I finish it after letting it sit for a month or so once I add the epilogue and fix the quirks, and making Lin's character a bit more of the grey type will be one thing I do._

_Two new groups of characters will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. One group has been touched on in only a few of the actual Redwall books, and the other group is completely of my own creation. I hope you look forward to them with anticipation! (snicker)_

_I hate to say this, but partly looking at the past two months and partly looking forward to the next two months, I probably won't be putting out chapters at a very fast rate here. Trust me; you won't want to be me on May 30__th__! (eeeeeeeeeek!!!!!!! Nnoooooo!!!!!)_

_Please review!_

_~Foeseeker~_


	37. Cast Shadows

_36: Cast Shadows_

_Lies! That's what this tribe has lived on for generations; lies!_

Lin flopped down on her bunk in her tiny cabin with a growl of rage. Even though she couldn't see herself she knew her eyes were blazing hotter than fire, and she could feel the muscles in her paws working in and out, flexing and unflexing, as if she was letting her screaming rage out through them. Five minutes ago she had been enjoying the quiet moment she had shared with Oakfur, but now that her thoughts had been turned back to Slarave her mind was turning and churning with ideas that were anything but peaceful. She had never liked the black leader of the Foeseekers in the first place, but now – now that Slarave had tried to murder her, then almost had them both killed when she fell overboard and Lin went after her – the young squirrelmaid could almost see a red haze of rage over her vision.

Fury howling through her veins, she dug her claws into the blanket of her bunk, snarling the material around her claws and twisting savagely at the thick stuff. Somehow the twisting seemed to help ease her wrath, and as she continued wrenching at the heavy cloth she could feel her brimming anger spilling over and soaking into the soft covering. Gradually she was able to think clearly, and she forced herself to retreat into her memories of Redwall and Tarenta. That name – Tarenta – seemed so peaceful. Lin mentally began chanting it, repeating it over and over, feeling herself relax gradually as she closed her eyes and thought of the place she had always considered home.

She reflected about what was happening on Tarenta now. At this time of day, the mothers would be starting to get supper ready, and the young ones would be playing on the soft sandy shores or assisting their parents with chores. This day of the week would have been washing day for orthodox housewives, and lines of damp and flapping laundry would be strung out between the houses, with the youngest Tarentians running between them playing hide-and-seek. Some of the squirrelmaids would doubtlessly be helping their mothers fold the dry laundry and set it aside for tomorrow's ironing, while in the woods would be occasional glimpses of fathers and brothers as they crisscrossed through the trees on their quest for the best timber to trade with the Volkendians. From the sea would be drifting the sweet scent of surf and salt, flavored with the tiniest taste of spray. The ships out on the harbor would be rocking in the waves –

But all that was gone. Gone. Wiped out and destroyed. Lin flinched at the thought the memories of Tarenta as she had last known it. Memories of sand disturbed and thrown about, stained scarlet from the recent battle; cries of suffering slaves; cracks of whips; weapons leaning against all handy locations or gripped in the paws of the hordes of vermin that swarmed over the peaceful isle and crushed the serene tranquility; the sickening stench of blood everywhere, from the houses to the ships to the slave pens; the ripped, bloody, disfigured body of her mother lying dead on the sand; heavy chains dragging at her limbs; and the grey face of the fox that had come to represent all she hated – Groomyer.

Lin almost wanted to bury her face in the pillow and sob. Why did every circle in her life come back around to violence, suffering, and war? Why did there seem to be no escape for her from this vicious cycle of bloodshed? Even her quiet rest at Redwall had been tainted with the too-recent shedding of her tribe's blood, and even more so by her thirst for revenge. Why couldn't she just have stayed there, undisturbed by war or fear, living out her days in peace?

Because that was not her destiny. Lin answered her own question as soon as she asked it. She would never have been fully at peace with herself, knowing she had done nothing about Groomer and his rabble. This was not a battle for revenge – it was far more than that. It was for all her friends at Redwall and Salamandastron, for all good creatures everywhere. If Groomyer was not vanquished, he would spread his dark stain over island after island, reaching slowly but surely towards Mossflower.

Lin closed her eyes, feeling for the handle of her axe as her thoughts pounded on. Was this really her destiny, this bloodbath of war, peril, and suffering? Was she really intended for this, instead of a peaceful life? Was she really meant to bring harm and death to others, even the dark-hearted? Did the tool of destruction in her paw really belong there?

An image flashed into her memory. One of silver scales, flashing teeth, water clouded with blood, searing pain up and down her body, and the screaming fire of battle. She could almost feel her paw flash out, the claws raking her finny adversary across the eyes, while she lashed out viciously with her good footpaw at the other pike clinging to her right leg. Blood roared in her ears even as stars flashed across her vision, the waves of unconsciousness lapping temptingly against her. A flash of scarlet battle-rage enveloped her eyes for the briefest instant, churning like dancing flames as her lungs screamed for air. The heat of battle warmed her body, and her three good limbs churned the red, foaming water as she struggled upward for a gasp of sweet air.

Lin opened her eyes, her grip firm on her axe. This was her destiny; she wouldn't – couldn't – be satisfied with another. The fire of battle was too strong in her for anything else. She had been born for this, and no matter what course she tried to take in life, she would always find herself back on the path of battle. It was a life of much sorrow, pain, loss, and grief, but it was the life that she had been destined for before she was made. Her footpaws were set firmly on it, and there was no going back. She was a warrior, and could never be anything else.

A hesitant rap on the door of her cabin startled Lin out of her reverie. "Come in," she called.

Oakfur, accompanied by an older squirrel Lin had never met before, stepped in. Oakfur seemed jumpy, and Lin couldn't help glancing quizzically at him. Even though he was normally hesitant and easily startled, she had only seen him like this back at the Foeseeker camp in the Northlands. In the moment before words were spoken, the squirrelmaid noticed that her friend's tunic was ripped at the collar, probably from the violent battle for survival that had taken place on the top deck not an hour before. She made a mental note to find him a fresh one after all of this business with Slarave was done.

The other squirrel was a tall, lanky fellow almost a head taller than Lin with fur that stuck up at an odd angle on his forehead, giving him a nonchalant air. He wore a loose-fitting garb of musty green that was two sizes too big for him, and a floppy rope belt from which hung a small hook clearly intended to hold a quiver of arrows. At the moment however, the only weapon the squirrel carried was a dirk with a nicked blade. He seemed to be around twenty-seven seasons, but somehow he seemed less mature than Oakfur. Lin was puzzled by this difference between the two squirrels, but merely nodded to the duo to deliver their news.

Oakfur toyed with the hickory staff he had taken to carrying, keeping his eyes on his footpaws. "Slarave's awake."

Lin rose, plucking her axe from the bedspread and sliding it into the unique sheath at her side. "What is her condition?" she questioned.

She spoke with more steel than she had intended, and she mentally slapped herself as she saw Oakfur jump. The other squirrel, on the other paw, continued to gaze steadily at her. "She's weak, an' is barely able t' sit upright. There're two guards at 'er door right now, but so far 'er gang 'asn't tried anythin' yet."

Lin nodded to him. "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Lurrus, ma'am. Most call me Lurri, since me pappy's name is Lurrus, too."

"I'm just Lin to you, Lurri. And thank you for that report." Lin gave the pair a brief smile. "Will you come with me? I'd like a few good warriors ready when I question Slarave, just in case her pals try anything."

As the trio exited the cabin and made their way towards the Foseeker leader's residence, Lin couldn't help but notice the crackling apprehension and tension in the air. The few squirrels they bypassed in the passage stared strangely at her, their eyes wide with a strange mixture of emotions. An eerie silence had gripped the _Dawn Queen_; there was not a sound through the entire hulk of the ship, barring the hushed wailing of an infant, the rush of water by the ship's sides, and the faint whisper of many paws on wooden decks. The stark fear, apprehension, and pre-battle-like atmosphere made the squirrelmaid's fur prickle.

When Lin, Oakfur, and Lurri entered Slarave's cabin, a squirrelwife standing by Slarave's bed straitened up and glanced fearfully at them. Slarave herself was propped up in her bunk, a tray with a beaker of water and a small bowl of broth on an upright crate beside her. A pair of brawny Foeseekers stood by the door, each armed with a spear. They saluted Lin and her entourage as they entered. This formality unsettled Lin even more than anything else that had occurred thus far. She was not their leader; why were they treating her like she was?

One of the guards whispered something to Lurri, who nodded. Without further ado, the two guards slipped out and vanished in the dim passage. The squirrelwife followed them hastily, taking the tray of food and a small towel with her. Now Slarave had full view of Lin and her companions, and Lin was startled at her reaction. The Foeseeker leader's black eyes passed coolly over Lurri, rested with a touch of menace on Oakfur, and then continued to the doorway. Her eyes widened, even though she was staring at empty air.

Lin glanced at Oakfur; he too had noticed his leader's strange reaction. With a slight shrug, he whispered to her, "Should we stay here?"

Lin paused before she answered. Slarave seemed in no condition to try anything, but she worried about her cohorts. Would they make another attempt at her life? Making a swift decision, she replied in the same soft whisper, "I think not, but could you both stand guard just outside the door? If you hear me shout, come right back in."

Oakfur looked doubtful, but he merely nodded and, motioning to Lurri, slipped out. The older Foeseeker followed, and the door shut softly behind them. Now Lin and her enemy were alone in the room.

The moment the latch clicked, Slarave seemed to relax. Twisting sharply to face her young interrogator, she gasped, "Who was that?"

Lin was taken aback by her manner. "Who, Lurri?"

Slarave waved her paw impatiently. "No, no, the big squirrel with the scars in the doorway."

Lin shook her head. "There were only two squirrels with me. You must have imagined it; you tried to swallow about half of the sea back there." She narrowed her eyes accusingly. "Why did you try to do that?"

Slarave lowered her gaze; Lin was surprised at her lack of self-defense. "I – I was jealous of you. I see that now. I – I've always wanted to be respected by my tribe, but I've never really succeeded. I think the only reason they listen to me at all is because I threaten them to hold back their food if they don't. Since you've arrived, well – most of the tribe has begun to take commands from you, not me. I'm afraid that – that the Foeseekers will fall apart. I wanted to put you out of the way to keep you from usurping my power."

Lin knew she should be feeling disgust, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to it. She had never realized that the Foeseekers were ignoring Slarave in favor of her; maybe it was because it had felt so – natural. As if that was the way it should be. She prayed that that was not an aftereffect of being the daughter of her tribe's chieftain. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I had no idea – that I was taking your place. Maybe it was because I never saw Foeseeker life before I came." Her voice hardened. "But that was no excuse to try and kill me. For one thing, I beat you back in the Northlands, and for another thing, why couldn't you have come to me and talked it over? And on that note, why _are_ you such a harsh ruler?"

Slarave settled herself down against her pillow. "It's a long story; do you want to hear it?"

Lin nodded. After a moment's hesitation, she sat down on the foot of Slarave's bunk. "If you're feeling up to it, yes."

"Well, before we were a tribe we were one squirrel, Ranguvar Foeseeker. Oh, she was a warrior of warriors! She could take on twenty vermin with her bare paws, and still come out alive and the victor. She was from an island in the far south, and the fire of the hot southern sun ran in her veins. She was both blessed and cursed with the rage of the badger lords, the bloodwrath. At least, it was similar, but Ranguvar always seemed to have more self-control over herself in that state than the badgers. At least, such runs the tale.

"Anyway, Ranguvar was captured by a corsair named Vilu Daskar and put to the oar on his ship, the _Gorleech_. There she met a mouse named Luke and together they hatched a plan to destroy Daskar and his crew and free the slaves. It was risky, but promising.

"Then their plan went awry, and Luke found himself on the top deck alone and tied to the wheel. They sailed up the Northlands coast towards a cluster of huge pillars of rock sticking up out of the sea" (here Lin's fur stood on end as she recalled the shipwreck of her own ship in a location identical to the place Slarave was describing) "and Ranguvar led the slaves against the corsairs. The bloodwrath was on her, and she fought like a madbeast to stave off the crew while Luke steered the ship. In the end Luke broke the ship in half against one of the stone pillars, and the half that Luke, Ranguvar, and most of the crew were on sank instantly, everyone on that half perishing.

"The other half was carried up between two pillars by a great wave, and there, high above the water, it stuck. The slaves on that half killed the remaining members of the crew, and some stayed there to call it home. A large number left the ship however, and went off to seek a new life for themselves.

"One of these adventurers was a young squirrel named Teraya Foeseeker. She was Ranguvar's daughter, born on their old island home, but young and ready to take into her stride any obstacle flung in her path. Journeying inland, she met a young squirrel, who by coincidence was black-furred, settled down, and raised a family. She had five children, and they also raised families. Pretty soon there was a large group of squirrels who began calling themselves the Foeseekers.

"Now, Teraya had spoken with her mother right before that last battle, and Ranguvar had given her a small bracelet that had been given to her by a badger lord from Salamandastron when she was no more than two seasons old; a simple thing, barely more than a circlet of gold, but treasured as the last physical link to Ranguvar. Teraya had given this bracelet to her oldest daughter, who had done the same. It became, in a sense, the symbol of the royal line in the Foeseeker tribe, for the carrier was visibly the direct decendant of Ranguvar. When the Foeseekers really became a tribe, the carriers at that time began to be looked up to as leaders. Pretty soon the carrier was referred to as the queen of the Foeseekers. In those times, under the queens, the Foeseekers flourished and had a bright future in the Northlands, the place they had come to call home. They never felt like their roots began in the Northlands, but it was the only place they knew.

"Then one queen decided to go on a quest. She had become facinated as a young one of the stories of Ranguvar Foeseeker and Luke the Warrior, espcially the latter's voyage to seek out and destroy Vilu Daskar. When she acended the throne, she decided to try and follow Luke's own path and seek out those lands that he had found. At that time the Foeseekers were a vibrant group with close to one thousand members, and somewhere between three and four score, including her husband and newborn daughter, accompanied her in hopes of starting a colony of sorts.

"It was mid-spring when they left, with promises to come back by the autumn festival, or at least send word. But they were never heard from again. The last clue we had to their wereabouts was from a small group a seals who had seen a ship with a description matching that of the Foeseekers attacked by corsairs, and a few younger squirrels taken aboard in chains, along with bundles of plunder. Then they scuttled the ship, and everyone in her."

"But what about the queen? Did she have the bracelet?" asked Lin. The story had held her with a kind of gripping entrancement; it reminded her very much of her own tribe's past.

Slarave was a bit breathless from her narrative, but she answered promptly. "She would never have given up her daughter, and no infant was carried to the corsair ship. She would have died before letting her daughter go, and if one had died, they would have gone together. Both heirs, and the bracelet with them."

Lin flinched at the sudden memory of her own mother's death. "Thank you for telling me this, Slarave, but what does it have to do with the current state of the Foeseekers?"

"I'm getting to that," Slarave grumbled with a kind of half smile. "Let me just catch my breath first. I did almost drown not an hour ago, you know."

Lin began to protest indignantly that she too had almost drowned thanks to the Foeseeker leader, but Slarave seemed to be deaf to her words. Besides, Lin had been the one who knew how to swim, so she had fared far better. The squirrelmaid bit back her arguments and waited impatiently for Slarave to continue.

The Foeseeker leader paused for a moment, taking a small sip from the beaker of water on the crate beside her. Lin noticed that she winced when she swallowed, and inquired whether Slarave had injured her throat or was merely hoarse. Slarave waved off her concern. "Sea water's too salty; not used to it," she explained. "When you get too much in your mouth and throat the salt can stick in your throat and make it scratchy."

Lin flicked her tail, puzzled. "I've swallowed water many a time, and it's never happened to me."

Slarave made a face. "Aye, but you've never swallowed half the ocean. And anyway, that was my first serious swim since I don't know when. You've been born and bred by the sea; it's part of you. Anyhow, shall I continue?"

"By all means, please do."

"Very well then. So, as I said, we had lost our leader. Nobeast had expected, much less prepared for, such an incident and no squirrel had been chosen to become the new leader; that had always been inherited. Quarrels, then fights, then outright division tore us apart as potential leaders battled for the position. First one squirrel would sieze power, then another. Over time, a series of dictators, councils, warrior chiefs, and power-hungry individuals seeking only their own well-being took control, the Foeseekers rapidly falling apart with each change.

"In more recent times, military leaders took charge. The squirrel before me was a touchy, seasoned veteran named Vadoro. He was as strong as a badger, had a temper fiercer than a wolverine's, could outthink and outmanuver a fox, and was feared by friend and foe alike for his skill with all weapons. He was affected by the bloodwrath of the badger lords, and I believe he was far too violent a leader. Vadoro jumped into every possible battle, accounting for more slain than any other leader, as far as we know. It ended up being his downfall, and he was killed by – of all things – a young weasel barely old enough to lift a dagger. The youngster nicked him with a blade smeared with lethal poison, and Vadoro died swiftly.

"When he died, I saw my chance. I had always dreamed of being the Foeseeker leader and I swiftly siezed this chance. I fought off any opposition with the help of about a score of tough, sly companions, five of whom are still alive in my service. I tried my best to be a good leader, but as you can see my only real example (Vadoro became ruler not long after I was born) was a bloodthirsty tyrant who cared for nothing but war. I made several attempts to modify our social system and our living, but I was too inexperienced and uneducated in that area. In the end I barely succeeded in stamping out insubordination and setting up regular guarding, farming, and foraging systems.

"Then you came along. From the moment you walked up to me under the tall pine, I knew you were a born leader – which I'm not. You were so like the ruler that the Foeseekers have always dreamed of that I feared that you would try to take over the tribe. Indeed, my tribe began to listen to you almost from that first moment. Ever since we've boarded the ships, I've been plotting to get you out of the way. Today seemed like the perfect chance."

Lin was astonished at this history and confession. She sat silently, regarding the Foeseeker leader. Slarave's fur was still slightly crusted with salt from the briny water, and her shoulders sagged. The foaming water closing in on all sides was still reflected in her eyes. But that tilt of the chin, that ramrod straightness of her back, that flint-like glint in her eyes was still there, as well as her rigid determination. Lin's quick scan of Slarave ended at the latter's paws, which were flexing restlessly against the blanket.

The black squirrelmaid suddenly felt an overwhelming need to get back to her own cabin, to be alone. Hastily she rose, giving Slarave a swift nod of farewell. "I'll probably look in on you this evening, if you're still in bed."

Slarave also gave Lin a businesslike nod; the squirrelmaid couldn't help but notice how stiffly she bent her head, not moving it farther than she had to. "Very well. And Lin – I'm sorry. Just please – I'm the Foeseeker leader, not you."

Lin felt some of the old steel return. "But I won our wager, remember?"

"I fear you've won more than that. Don't go farther into my tribe than you can help, because it could be harder than you think to pull back out."

Not pausing to reflect on what Slarave's odd words could mean, Lin spun around and opened the door, slipping out with a nod to Oakfur and Lurri, who were standing guard outside. She didn't notice the former's look of frustration, nor the clenched fist of the black squirrel in the cabin behind her. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, Slarave stared after her interrogator with fire in her black gaze.

_

* * *

_

Well, what did you think? This was a longish chapter, but I have a few major spoilers in this chapter; the tricky part is picking them up. Based on what I've given you so far, what do you think the ending of this story is going to be?

_I can't think of anything else to say here, so this is it. Please review!_

_~Foeseeker~_


	38. The Binding of Broken Chains

_37: The Binding of Broken Chains_

Gareth lounged against the corner of the shed, lazily chewing on a bit of the island's scant grass as he watched the big fox pounding away at a glowing piece of metal. The blacksmith's powerful limbs handled the heavy mallet skillfully, gripping it easily in one paw like a child's toy. The scalding piece of iron on the anvil emitted sparks at every blow, and Gareth could feel waves of heat coming from the glowing bed of coals in the forge. But the big blacksmith seemed oblivious to the heat as he went doggedly to work, streaming sweat and panting slightly from the awful heat.

As the blacksmith fox shifted his position to toss the piece of metal into a vat of water with a sizzling hiss, he glanced nonchalantly up and nodded to Gareth. The young fox stepped obediently into the shed, watching silently as the other continued his work without so much as a syllable passing his lips. Gareth was used to this silence. Bannaru had always been a quiet beast, and many beasts said he was like a tough walnut shell; hard to crack, but worth it. The two foxes had been friends for some time now, and their quiet companionship went by Groomyer's eye with his nod of approval if a frown of worry. It was good for Gareth to make friends among the strong beasts of the horde at his still-young age, for they would be useful tools when he succeeded his father as leader. But they would be dangerous weapons against Groomyer himself should his son ever think of taking over leadership by force . . .

However, no such bloodthirsty thoughts were running through Gareth's head as he watched his friend reheating the piece of steel and pounding determinedly away at it. Gradually, under the big fox's mallet and tongs, a point was formed, then a blade. Still working stubbornly at his task, Bannaru tuned the edges to a beautiful beaten edge. Finally, as he cooled the new dagger for the last time, he wiped his brow and strode over to his young friend. "'Ere fer more o' the blades and arrer heads, mate?"

Gareth straitened from his half-slouch against the wall, nodding. "Aye, were you able to get any more?"

Bannaru merely motioned for his friend to follow. Leading the way into his own quarters behind the forge shed, he opened a splintered, battered chest to reveal a treasure trove of daggers, arrow heads, a mace, spears with shattered shafts, bows, and a multitude of other things. All were in varying degrees of condition, but still battle-ready.

Gareth looked them over in pleased astonishment. "That's great! If you don't mind, I'll fetch them this evening. I might have a friend with me, too; you'll like him."

Bannaru merely grunted, his usual response to a statement aimed at him, as he moved over to a shelf and began fiddling with something wrapped in a piece of sacking.

Gareth picked up one of the bows, testing it. It was strong and quite supple; with proper training one of the slaves would be able to handle it quite well. A long dagger, more like a dirk, also was in excellent condition. The young fox turned it over in his paws admiringly, noting the smoothness of the blade and the clean lines of the freshly honed edge.

Suddenly, something struck the young fox. Still keeping a nonchalant tone, he continued to examine the dagger as he asked casually, "By the way, Bannaru, where're you getting all of these weapons?"

Bannaru grunted. "I'm a blacksmith. We come across ol' blades not needed anymore."

"But this dagger is in excellent condition. Why would anybeast give it away?"

Bannaru glanced up from the little bundle he had been examining, plucking something from it and holding it in his paw. When he saw the dagger in question, he suddenly almost smiled. Gareth was startled. His big, ruddy, seasoned friend never smiled!

"I made that fer ye. They'll need et."

Gareth stared at him, frowning. "What do you mean 'they'?" he asked cautiously.

In answer, the brawny fox tossed the thing in his paw into the air. Gareth caught it. It was a little bronze metal, no broader across than two claws, but beautifully designed. One side depicted paws tugging a chain apart, the links of the bond breaking under the grip. It was surprisingly detailed for an image of that small scale. On the other side was written in engraved letters, "Let my people go."

Gareth looked up, staring at Bannaru. How had he known? Was he sided with his friend, or Groomyer? Would he betray them? How had he found out?

Bannaru apparently could see Gareth's confusion on the grey fox's face. Chuckling, he leaned against the wall as he watched his young friend with amusement. "Got a few questions dere, mate?"

"Um – yes," Gareth spluttered. "How did you find out? Who told you? Why did you –"

"Looks like dis is goin' t' require a nice sit-down wid a cup o' mint tea," Bannaru said with an almost-smile. He picked up a bucket half full of water and, ladling out the liquid into two mugs and setting them as close to the still-hot breakfast coals as he could, left them there to heat. Then he pulled Gareth down onto a stool, leaning against the wall himself.

"Now, 'ow did I find out about yer doins wid de slaves? Well, 'twasn't too 'ard. At least, fer me. I know ye well, an' since I still considered dose weapons as – well, beggin' yer pardon, but I considered dem t' still be under my charge – I jus' poked around an' dropped a question 'ere an' dere. If'n any large deliveries o' weapons 'ad been made recently, 'oo 'ad ordered a new weapon from me, t'ings like dat. Well, most o' de beasts knew noddin' about it, but a one o' 'em said day'd seen you pokin' inter a store'ouse wid a large sack. Later, I noticed a bit o' ripped sackin' on a woodpile near de slave compound. An' why would anybeast 'ave a sack over dere, I asked meself?"

He paused, glancing at Gareth with a twinkle in his eye. "An' so I decided I'd like t' 'elp out."

Gareth stared at him as he processed this information. "But _why_?"

"Well," Bannaru began, moving over to the fireplace to slide the mugs away from the coals and drop two linen bags containing mint leaves into the water to steep, "I never liked de idea o' slavery, anyway. Why would anybeast keep a slave? Because dey're too lazy to do de work demselves – too good-fer-noddin t' do anyt'in' useful. So, says I to meself, why not 'elp 'im? So I'm goin' to."

Gareth drew his dagger, running his claws along it as he thought the matter over. Finally he gave a wry smile. "I think you're in on it whether we want you or not!"

"Deal?" Bannaru asked, extending his paw.

"Deal."

And two clasped paws sealed the matter.

††

Groomyer whirled on the cringing weasel before him. "Tell me again; how much food went missing under your watch?"

The weasel huddled down as much as he could without falling over completely. In a quavering voice, he whispered, "Enough t' feed twoscore an' a 'alf beasts fer a day."

Groomyer swiveled around on his heel and stormed down the length of the small building that served as his home. His claws scraping against the wooden floor he snapped back around, advancing on the weasel with a look of icy fury. Grabbing the terrified creature by the tunic front, he hauled him forward until they were almost nose to nose. His voice was little more than a whisper, yet it was laden with barely restrained malice. "Where. Did. It. Go?"

"I – I – I don't know," the poor weasel stammered, struggling feebly in his leader's viselike grip. "I – I – I jus' know dat it's gone."

"Who took it?"

"Er – er – I'da know. I saw somebeast – I t'ink it were a fox – but I'm no' sure. 'Oo'er it 'twas, dey were sneaky. I t'ink dey sneaked int' da store'ouse through da winder an' used a woodpile like a step." He gazed innocently at his leader. "Dat's all I know; can I go now?"

Groomyer released his hordebeast, allowing him do drop to the floor in a messy jumble. Reaching down, the Ruthless One gripped the weasel's nose with his claws and gave it a twist. The poor creature squeaked with pain, pulling away from the pressure. Groomyer hissed at him through clenched teeth, "If'n this ever happens again, it won't be your nose getting twisted – it'll be your neck!"

Releasing the weasel, who scuttled on all fours towards the door, Groomyer advanced on Zadi. His weasel spy had been the first to report the missing supplies, and the guard had confirmed it. Now Groomyer, seething with anger, snarled at her, "What're you staring at? Get on out there an' tell Adastro to double the guard on the food supplies an' keep an eye out for any suspicious creatures, especially foxes. And that reminds me – see if you can find Gareth. I'd like to talk to him about something."

Zadi saluted and hurried out, Groomyer watching her go with narrowed eyes.

Two creatures had been listening from outside the hut. One, a red-gold vixen who had been eavesdropping from the northern wall, leaped over a nearby fence and vanished as Zadi emerged. The other, a mangy-furred shrew at the western wall, hurriedly bent under a bush when the weasel stepped out onto the street. When she had gone, he inched cautiously out and scuttled away towards a large group of slaves who were busily chopping wood.

Neither had seen the other. Neither knew the other had been there.

Both had a secret now, and both would tell it in their own way.

_

* * *

Dun dun dun duuuun! Ooh, I'm evil sometimes. Got a nice cliffie here? Tellmetellmetellme! XP_

_Well, quite a bit of stuff here. But since I think you all should be able to pick up at least one or two things here (thanks for that tip, warrior4). Happy clue-hunting!_

_I know I promised to have this chapter up earlier, but I got grounded from the computer right before I finished this chapter (arrrggh!), so naturally I couldn't post it. NEXT CHAPTER, I PROMISE!!!_

_So long!_

_Foeseeker_


	39. Storms

_38: Storms_

His footpaws coated thickly in oozing, gooey mud, Yoofus crept along at a snail's pace in the lead of the escaping quartet. Thunder boomed and lightning crackled overhead as rain sliced down in torrential sheets, filling every hollow and crevice with water. No light from the moon filtered through the boiling masses of oily black clouds; they were finding their way almost completely by touch, with the occasional assistance of a flash of lightning. The mud, which only minutes ago had been firmly packed soil, sucked horribly at their footpaws as they tramped through it. A thick cloud of fear and foreboding hung over the whole group as Yoofus led them across the drenched gorge towards the forbidding works on the perimeter.

Nadin, the half-broken ferret, inched along behind the fire-furred Dilnrae, who padded along silently but ever ready just behind the volethief. Melanda, aware that she was the best fighter out of the escapees, had placed herself at the rear. Her eyes, slitted against the rain, darted from side to side as she watched for any guards that might be about. An eerie silence hung over the group, as if a thick fog shrouded them and stifled their words.

_Where is that mouse?_ Yoofus thought irritably. Somehow a silent bond of trust had formed between him and his odd companion in the few hours they were together. Some kinship of spirit drew them together like two magnets, almost thinking the same thoughts in their similarities. For some reason Yoofus had expected the mouse to wait outside for them. Could he have gone to seek shelter from the deluge? Somehow that answer didn't satisfy the watervole.

Then a sound behind them, from the direction of the chariot team sheds, froze the quartet in their tracks.

"Escape! Three slaves, only been gone minutes! Escape!"

"Run!" panted Nadin, dropping his spear into the mire and starting off at a stumbling trot. Melanda snagged him neatly by his ragged tunic, dragging him after Yoofus and Dilnrae as they darted into a thicket of brambles. There Nadin crumpled to the ground in a sobbing mess.

The squirrelmaid eyed him with disgust. "What are we going to do with this sack of bones?"

"Bring 'im with us," said Yoofus calmly. There was an icy edge of determination that frightened him for a moment; he hadn't sounded that cold since his son was taken. But there was no time for dwelling on the past now.

"Give him here," the volethief growled. Melanda, startled by this change in him, pushed the stricken ferret into his paws. Yoofus caught the Nadin easily – in truth, he weighed as much as a feather – and got him down into a sitting position. Settling down next to him, he asked quietly, "D'ye wanna be free, mate?"

Melanda and Dilnrae exchanged a startled glance at this approach, but Yoofus just shot them a glare as the ferret replied in a cracked voice, "Ya. We got get 'way from 'ere or dey make us slaves 'gain. Not want pull wheel-thing 'more!"

"Listen, mate," Yoofus said earnestly. "If'n ye stick right behind me 'til we're well away from 'ere, I promise that I'll make sure ye never 'ave t' pull a wheel-thing again. Deal?"

Nadin seemed not to have heard for a few moments; indeed, Yoofus began to wonder if he had fainted. Then he lifted his head and said in a whisper, "I follow ya. Nadin promise. Want be free!"

Yoofus winced at the rawness of the ferret's voice. He was about to comfort the stricken Nadin when a hiss from Dilnrae interrupted his thoughts. "'Ere they come!"

There was no doubt that the horde of Malus Deathclaw was efficient. Yoofus grudgingly had to hand it to them as he glumly watched the blurred forms of well over a score of guards getting into readiness to scout out the escapees; they worked fast. In half a minute from the sounding of the alarm, thirty-one beasts were ready to hunt down the slaves. Standing in silent rows, the group watched as a short, solid form wearing a cloak – a captain – strode back and forth in front of them, shaking its fist. Then, as if at a signal, the hordebeasts split up in trios. They worked back and forth across the almost-bare area, missing no indentation in the mud, nor forgetting to overturn any stone.

Yoofus watched them advance with a grimly set jaw. "We're goin' t' 'ave t' run fer it."

Nadin began to whimper again. Dilnrae glowered at the ferret as Melanda peered through a gap in the foliage alongside the volethief. "What should we do?"

Yoofus pointed to the two nearest factions of vermin, at present crossing paths only seventy paces in front of them. "Once those two groups 're at their furthest point, then we'll slide out o' that gap in th' back o' th' thicket. Then – well, I jus' 'ope yer footpaws are up fer some headlong runnin'."

Dilnrae and Nadin exchanged a glance. The ferret was quaking from ears to tail, but the mouse seemed to only be staying where he was because of his desire to get away from the hated gorge. The blazing fire of rage in his black eyes was almost terrifying to behold, glowing like flames behind his eyes. The half-forgotten word _bloodwrath_ echoed somewhere in Yoofus' head as the fire-furred mouse snarled in an oddly blurred voice, "Are we ev'n gonna put up some kind o' fight? Ah mean, wot 're we? Cowards?"

"Not cowards, only beasts with some brains in their skulls," Melanda snapped. "Now get over there and help Nadin! If you don't move your thick tail, we're going to be dancing on swordpoints in another two minutes!"

Yoofus shot her a glare. "An' if'n ye don't belt up, missie, yer gonna be wearin' that pretty tail o' yourn fer a headdress!"

Tempers were beginning to run dangerously hot when of a sudden Nadin said quietly, "Dey're at da fardest point now. Can we go?"

Yoofus blinked in surprise at the ferret's change from utter panic to calm and level-headed. "Aye. I'll lead; Nadin, ye stick on me tail, and Dilnrae, ye foller 'im. Melanda, yer rearguard. Keep yer eyes peeled."

A few nods were exchanged between the group; then the mud-splattered fur of the bankvole disappeared through the thick branches of the thicket. Nadin vanished almost at the same moment, with Dilnrae following him a bit more slowly. Melanda, with a last glance through the branches, inched into the small passage through the brambles herself.

Yoofus had stopped the group almost within the tunnel. Glancing out, he made sure the coast was relitiavely clear before turning back with a few last words of instruction. "When I say run, ye jus' run as if yer tail were on fire. Don't stop til we reach th' cliffs; I'll show ye a secret way out when we get there."

He waved with his paw for them to follow as he bolted out into the torrential rain. Three pairs of pounding paws followed hot on his heels.

A few seconds of terrible quiet reigned as they burst out of their hiding place. Then absolute bedlam ensued. Three or four of the nearest groups of vermin took up pursuit, while others scattered in all directions as orders were forgotten amid a storm of spur-of-the-moment impulses. The captain, unusually fleet of foot for one of his stature and build, came pounding after the pursuers with his sword bare. "Get them!" he roared. "Catch them, 'r you lot'll be under the lashes t'morrow!"

The fear of the sentence – for Captain Marcius never gave idle threats – spurred the hordebeasts on. Melanda risked a glance over her shoulder and found to her horror that they were only half a stone's throw away and rapidly gaining. "Yoofus! Hurry!" she panted.

A slingstone whistled by the volethief's ear, just brushing it; he gritted his teeth and ignored the stinging pain as he bellowed back to the squirrelmaid, "Stick t'gether an' foller me! If'n we're seperated we're goners!"

They had come to a construction site – in fact, the very place where Melanda had been working only the day before – where several half-finished storehouses stood scattered about amid piles of lumber, stone, and tools. Yoofus – whose nimble brain was never idle – was beginning to decide on the best course through the maze of slippery mud and teetering piles of materials when a few notes of a flute drifted to his ears through the crashing symphony of the storm. _The mouse!_ The notes came again, clearer this time, and more urgent. Yoofus struggled to pinpoint their direction through the thunder and rain.

"Keep movin', ya sack o' bones!" came the snarl of Dilnrae's voice. With a jolt Yoofus realized that he was slacking pace, and Nadin, like a faithful dog, was doing the same. Dilnrae was almost tripping over the ferret's tail as he tried to put on full speed, glowering furiously at the bankvole.

_Tee tew-ta too tee tum-tee!_

"There!" Yoofus bellowed back at his compainions, swerving towards the low wall of a storehouse some fifty lengths ahead of them and to the right. Nadin was panting by now, and Melanda was beginning to lag when, illuminated in a flash of lighting, the circling form of a hawk was visible above the clifftop. "Tergen!" she screeched without thinking, putting on speed.

It seemed impossible. But somehow, throuth the raging tempest, Tergen heard her. Folding his wings, he dropped like a stone towards them. Then, with a twitch of his wings, he altered course and struck into a group of charging vermin. There was a cry and a rat fell forever into the thick, oozing mud.

Yoofus reached the wall and valuted over it, followed by his companions. Shrieks could be heard behind them as the vermin struggled to attack the darting hawk. Using the storm to his advantage, Tergen was swooping about through the sheets of rain, diving now and again into the scattered hordebeasts. The darkness hid his feathers – which, soaked through like a piece of sopping laundry, looked almost black.

"I hope he can slow them up enough to let us scale that cliff," Yoofus muttered as he paused in the lee of the wall for a brief moment's rest. Nadin collapsed onto the ground, panting like a bellows. Melanda and Dilnrae leaned against the wall, breathing deep and hard.

Catching his breath enough to retort, Dilnrae stared at the vole in disbelief. "Wha'? Ya really wan' us ta climb dat?" He pointed at the sheer wall of earth and stone ahead of them. "'Tis been tried, an' is impossible!"

Yoofus smiled, his eyes glittering with an almost humored spark. "Not my way!"

Melanda was about to question this odd response when a sopping form landed on the ground beside them. "Can't hold stupid vermin off longer," Tegen rasped as he violently shook his dripping feathers. "You need to run now!"

The volethief heaved himself upright. "Ye 'eard 'im, mates; let's git a move on! Not too much farther, now!"

As they wearily forced themselves back into the up-down up-down work of running, Tergen launched himself into the air again. He sailed away towards the southern end of the gorge, calling back to them, "I bring friends, many friends! Will help, come soon, you see!"

"Who's th' fat featherbag talkin' 'bout?" Dilnrae panted as they struggled through the mud.

Melanda shrugged. "D'know, but I think it really doesn't matter now."

They struggled on towards the cliff through the clinging mud, their pace a bit slower now. Despite their momentary rest, they were exhausted, and their breath began to be rough and labored. Nadin especially seemed to be suffering, for though his wrenched footpaw – twisted several days ago while pulling the mouse advisor Forsythia's chariot – was almost healed, the tendons had still to set firmly, and the ankle was beginning to swell and stiffen. Ocassionally, over especially rough ground, each of his steps would be punctuated with a little squeak of pain.

As they emerged from the construction area, Yoofus caught sight of the vermin once more. They were a good distance to the left and right, having gone around the half-finished buildings, but were nearly level with them. And every moment they drew closer. More seemed to have joined the chase, and these fresh beasts were able to put on more speed than their tiring companions.

Then the cliff face loomed up before them. A flash of lightning illuminated the stony surface, sheer and almost perfectly smooth. Dilnrae began to growl curses under his breath that they would never escape now, while Nadin whimpered like a fightened babe. Even Melanda, bred from the best squirrel warriors in the land, quailed at the sheer size of the obstacle.

Yoofus' eyes darted from side to side, seeking the exit. Where was that mouse? Was he at the escape route by now? Or – what? To the watervole's disgust, he realized that the mouse had not divulged his plans to the thief on his own strategy.

_Til-lum tee twee ta!_

There it was! A thick swatch of gorse and thistles beside a weathered boulder that seemed to sprout from the cliff. A shadow flitted into the cluster of weeds. Was it his traveling companion? Had he used the flute to attract the volethief's attention, or were those notes merely Yoofus' imagination? But that was no matter now. The volethief cast a fleeting look over his shoulder, calling back to the trio behind him, "Follow me! There's a – Melanda!"

The squirrelmaid was gone.

_

* * *

Dun dun dun duuuun! Hee hee, That was the best cliffhanger I could do for this chapter. What did you think?_

_For all those who have been reading __Silenced__, I've decided to put it on hold. Don't worry, I'm going to continue it, but there are two reasons for my decision: one, it's high time I wrapped up __Foeseeker__; and two, there are a number of plot points that I haven't worked out yet (if you haven't noticed, I'm an extremest when it comes to details and knowing what I'm doing right at the start). So – yeah. And I have a third Redwall story in the making, but that'll come after __Silenced__. It's only in the very first stages of development, so it won't be ready for a while._

_I'm really sorry about this, but if I've been reading one or more of your stories, could you tell me you've updated it in your review? Our computer that has my e-mail on it crashed, and I've lost all my story update messages. Thanks!_

_Okay, I think that's it! Please review!_

_Foeseeker_


	40. Defeat in Victory

_39: Defeat in Victory_

Melanda had been keeping up well with Yoofus and her other two companions; in fact, she could easily have outdistanced the mouse and ferret if it had come to a sprint to the cliff face. But disaster had lain in the most hidden of places.

As they drew near to the cliff face, they crossed a beaten dirt track that served as a road. It was down this road – only a few score paces from where the squirrelmaid stood – that the slave-holding rowhouse that she had recently inhabited was located, dug deep into the wall of the gorge. And as she thought of that horrible, dank place, two faces appeared in Melanda's mind: the dark-furred, black-eyed countenance of Gorsepaw the otter, whom she had become friends with; and the fearfully disfigured features of Meekayel, the gentle squirrel who cared nothing for himself. It was these two faces – and the horror of the realization that she was leaving them behind – that slowed Melanda's steps as her eyes turned unwillingly in the direction of the rowhouse.

It was a crucial error. Her faltering footpaws –weighed down by her racing thoughts – did not respond as she attempted with her mind only half on the task to leap over the ditch at the edge of the dirt track. Her left footpaw dragged as she pushed off from the near bank, and as her right footpaw came down firmly on the solid ground of the far side her left slipped on the slick, oozing mud of the ditch slope. The squirrelmaid went down in a heap, spear skidding off to one side as she released it to stop her face from striking the ground.

And now it was too late. As she scrambled up, Melanda heard the shouts of the vermin only a score of paces behind her. Far in front, Yoofus had reached the cliff and turned back. The squirrelmaid saw him start back towards her. She waved a paw frantically for him to go on, yelling back to him through the cresando of thunder, "I'll buy you all some time; keep going while you still have the chance!"

She ignored the desperate plea in the volethief's eyes as she snatched up her spear and turned to face the first group of oncoming vermin. They were a quartet – two rats, a stoat, and a shrew (woodlanders were scattered throughout Malus Deathclaw's horde), armed with slings and varying blades. Melanda gritted her teeth as she raised her spear, sending a silent prayer upward; _"Let my sacrifice not be in vain – help them escape! Oh Mum, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"_

She had no time for more thought. The stoat took the lead and aimed a stab at her midriff with his sword. Melanda leaped nimbly aside and drove her spear home in his throat. Snatching up the sword before it could fall, she countered a blow from a loaded sling by one of the rats with the sword's flat, biting her lip when the stone clacked against her paw. A backward chop with the blade finished the slinger, and a lightning stab with the spear, which she had wrenched from the dead stoat, ran the other rat through the chest as he dashed up to the battle.

Then the shrew was upon her. As Melanda turned to face him, something in her screamed at her not to harm a fellow woodlander. She faltered for an instant, and the shrew took full advantage of it. Crouching low, he ducked under her spear arm and whipped his cutlass across the underside of that limb, spinning the rusty blade backward as he skipped nimbly by her, laying her wrist open to the bone.

The squirrelmaid gave a mute gasp of pain – the agony of the wounds tightening her throat and rendering her soundless – as the blade tore at tender muscles and flesh. In a half-blind panic, she lashed out with her own sword while waves of pain exploded from the wounds, waving the blade wildly about. As her agony-blinded vision cleared and the pain from the wounds dulled into an aching throb, she slowed her attack – and then realized with a start of surprise that her enemy was dead at her feet.

Shock of killing a seeming woodlander surged through her, drowned a second later by a howl from behind. The rest of the score and a half of vermin was upon her, weapons bare. Blood of their hordemates had been spilled, and the reek of it was in the air; killing was to be done in return.

Melanda never really had much recollection of that battle. All that ever really embedded in her memory was a blur of pain, screams, blood, and terror. Her movements were almost mechanical as she swung, parried, blocked, stabbed, and chopped with any weapon that was in her paw. Losing first a sword, she would be knocked to the ground and find a javelin. Picking that up, it would be lost a moment later only to be replaced by a cutlass. She didn't know how much time was passing, nor how badly she was injured; all Melanda knew that she was fighting for the lives of the three escapees.

††

Yoofus watched the shrew fall, still transfixed to the spot. He felt sick, nauseous; nothing would have suited him better at that moment then to curl up in a snug corner and never speak to anybeast again. He had sworn to Armel that he would bring the infirmary keeper's daughter back safely – and now, with escape only twoscore paces away, Melanda was being cut down by a mob of vermin. His word of honor was being shattered like a fishing boat dashed against a cliff. There was no way out, no way to live up to his vow –

Except to throw himself into the fray along side the squirrelmaid, to live or – inevitably – perish with her.

Clutching his faithful dagger, Yoofus started back towards the melee with as much speed as he still had. He was pulled up short as Dilnrae leaped on him, bringing him onto all fours. The fire-furred mouse roared furiously, "Wha' ya t'ink yer doin'? tryin' ta kill us all?!"

Yoofus remained on paws and knees, breathing hard as he struggled to keep his anger, despair, and horror-induced nausea under control. "I'm tryin' t' keep an oath, me auld son. Now let me up!"

Dilnrae gripped the volethief's arm firmly and began dragging him back towards the bramble thicket, bellowing at the hapless vole as he did so, "Wha' would ya rather 'ave, one death 'r four on yer 'ead? T'ink, scruffbag!"

Yoofus bared his teeth at the mouse, struggling to loose the iron grasp on his arm. "Let me go, nettlebrain!"

"Yoofus no' gonna fight, is he?"

Both vole and mouse froze at the sound of Nadin's voice. The ferret – mud-plastered, rain-slicked, and exhausted – sat hunkered down between two rocks in an attempt to shelter himself from the wild summer gale raging around them. His eyes slid back in their sockets so that he was looking at Yoofus without moving his head. "Nadin 'fraid ta go wi' ya if'n ya fight. Nadin scared; want free."

Dilnrae gave Yoofus a triumphant look. "Ya made a promise ta 'im, too; which promise 'r ya gonna break?"

††

Melanda swung her sword at a fox, ignoring the pain of a dagger nicking her ear as she ducked under a spear and twisted to avoid a cutlass thrust. As she turned desperately to attack a sling-wielding weasel, a hefty ferret landed a blow with his sword hilt squarely between her shoulders and knocked her to the ground. The vermin that swarmed in on her both half smothered her and saved her life, for none of them had room enough to strike at her with a weapon. The squirrelmaid wriggled on the ground, trying to worm her way into a position to enable her to strike at the vermin with her own blade.

A bloodcurdling screech tore through the battle-thickened air as a skinny rat was suddenly lifted into the air by a mob of feathered foes. More cries rang out as more of the small birds plummeted into the ranks, striking mercilessly at all and sundry with sharp beak and hooked talon. Then Tergen was among them, screeching his battle cries as he clamped his powerful talons around the head of a hordebeast and threw him to the ground. "Keeerrkeechaaaahh! Slay all vermin! Keeeechaaaah!"

Melanda hauled to her paws, wounding a rat in the shoulder with a spear thrust as she struggled through the sea of beats towards the hawk. "Tergen! Over here!"

Tergen stooped low, gliding over the heads of the confused hordebeasts until he was circling right above the squirrelmaid. "Keeechaa! What Melanda doing in middle of vermin, eh?"

"Listen, there's no time to explain. I have to get over to that bramble thicket yonder, by the stone outcrop. Yoofus says we can escape from there – he's waiting by it. Hurry!" Melanda spun to dodge a spear blow from a rat who had tried to attack her from behind, wincing as the metal point grazed her cheek.

Tergen climbed into the air again. He circled once before soaring off, calling back down, "I get Sparra to guard you! You get away, you see! Karrrrakk!"

_Sparra!_

Melanda's whirling brain was so engaged with the battle at the moment that she couldn't focus on the word. She recalled dimly that Sparra were a tribe of sparrows who had lived long ago at Redwall, but that was all. A pair of stoats wielding rusty, nicked rapiers engaged her complete attention a moment later, and she forgot all about the ancient name for the moment.

Two of the small birds – sparrows – suddenly descended on one of the stoats, attacking him viciously with their beaks and claws as he tried to attack first, one, then the other. The squirrelmaid, faced now with only the one, was able to lodge a dagger in his shoulder. But by now she was beginning to feel the effects of her many wounds. Blood loss was slowly draining her of consciousness, and her legs felt like two blocks of stone. Blinking hard, she focused on getting to the bramble thicket. Cutting to the edge of the battle, she started towards it only to recoil in terror as she saw a large band of reinforcements – consisting of a large number of archers – heading strait towards the melee.

The two sparrows who had attacked the other stoat alighted on the ground next two her. One of them grabbed her ragged dress by the sleeve, attempting to drag her towards the thicket. "What bushtail waitta for? Getta movin', 'fore more badda wormbeasts come with lotsa flyin' sharpsticks!"

Melanda struggled forward again, but the crowd of reinforcements seemed to already be dragging at her despite their half minute of ground to cover before reaching the fight. Tripping over a spear, she fell face first into the mud with a bump. The two sparrows fluttered about her head, trying to pull her back to her paws. As the squirrelmaid raised her face, shuddering at the clammy feeling of the mud clotting in her fur, she froze.

The three figures by the bramble thicket were gone.

††

Soil worked its way into Yoofus' eyes, mouth, and nose as he struggled through the narrow, twisting tunnel. Ahead of him, Dilnrae wrestled with the gritty mounds of loose dirt on the tunnel floor and hacked away at the sides when earth clogged up the passage. Nadin inched miserably along behind the mouse, ignoring all about him. The darkness in the narrow space was complete; Yoofus could only tell what his companions were doing by sound and touch.

He glanced back in the direction they had come. Far behind them, down many twists and turns, lay the entrance of the half-collapsed tunnel. Tucked between two unmoving boulders and screened by the briar thicket, it didn't draw a second glance from the outside. The tunnel itself had to have been built at the same time as the gorge, for it was old, dilapidated, and had already sagged down to a mere thread that a beast could creep through, bent double and half crawling. Perhaps it had been used to channel water during the construction of the sheer-sided valley of Valamarus; at least, rainwater was steadily trickling down the hard floor, though the walls and ceiling were soft and sagging.

Yoofus gritted his teeth as he squeezed through a crack between the earthen walls. Trying to peer on ahead, he hissed at Dilnrae, "See if'n ye can make th' gaps a bit wider, me auld son; I nearly stuck there!"

"If'n' I dig anymore 'n I did, t'would come crashin' down on us!" Dilnrae growled back. "Now shut yer face; dis place feels like i' coul' tumble daown a' any moment!"

Nadin could be heard snuffling as they slunk on, going steadily upward around each bend and turn. Yoofus couldn't help thinking a bit irritably that the ferret had gone out of his senses and was dreaming of food when Nadin whispered, "We're comin' t' end; dere air comin' in."

"How d' ya know?" Dilnrae snapped irritably; by the faint clink of spearhead on stone and the strain in his voice, Yoofus could tell that the mouse was trying to pry his way through a narrow part of the tunnel.

"I can smell rain, clean air; it close all right."

"Be careful!" Yoofus growled to Dilnrae. "We're in sight o' that mob on top o' th' cliff when we come out!"

His only answer was a grunt as the fire-furred mouse forged steadily ahead.

Some minutes passed before a faint glow ahead and the smell of wet earth and stone signaled the end of the passage. The trio inched out of the mud-slathered exit, shivering as they huddled together in the middle of the ditch that the entrance had opened into. It was slimy, caked with dead leaves, and ankle-deep with muddy, churning water. Overhead, the storm had passed its climax but still raged on about them. Wind could be heard over the ditch banks, whistling between stones and swishing the few stalks of scraggly heather that grew there. Rain came down in sheets, soaking stone, bush, and beast alike in its ruthless deluge.

Yoofus blew a few drops of rain from his whiskers as he muttered to Dilnrae and Nadin, "Right. Now, when we break cover we 'ave t' 'ead strait that way –" he pointed northeast – "'cause that's where th' closest cover is. They burned the slopes, y'see, an' there's not so much as a blade of grass from 'ere t' th' tree line. Go just as fast as ye can, 'cause there's guards on the cliff tops an' they'll shoot at ye if'n they spot ye. If'n we get separated keep goin' nor'east; there's a river that way an' we'll catch up at the big jetty-stone; ye'll know it when ye see it. Right, any questions?"

Nadin glanced up in the direction of the cliffs. "'Ow many guards up dere?"

"About a score 'n sight on a clear day," Yoofus admitted grudgingly. "In this storm I think we've got a slim chance that we might not be spotted, so just keep yer 'eads down an' run!"

He inched out onto the downhill lip of the ditch, creeping along on his belly until he was on firm ground away from the crumbling ditch bank. From the cliff tops down to the tree line at the bottom of the slope, the ground stretched away bare and black. A few weeds struggled to cling to life in a few places, but even these were discouraged by the vigilant watchers of Valamarus. A charred tree stump perched here and there, usually in a stony hollow where is was difficult to impossible to get the proper tools into place to eradicate it. But besides these there was no cover save for the contours of the land itself.

Yoofus studied the terrain before them as his companions scrambled out of the ditch. The nearest stretch of tree line was about half a furlong away; between them and the trees, only a few tiny hollow and a jutting crag of stone offered any protection from the watchful eyes above. But it was the only route to safety.

He signaled to Dilnrae and Nadin which direction to take as he rose to his paws. Then they were all running, running for their lives across the black, charred slope. Flint snagged cruelly at their footpaws, tender from hard running and climbing. Hidden tussocks and lumps caused them to stumble, reel, and fall. But they kept going, knowing their lives depended on it.

Almost a full blessed minute of silence held as they bolted for the tree line. Then, after they had finished barely a quarter of the perilous race, a hoarse shout rang out from above. There was a commotion, followed by the slapping of paws on wet timbers. An arrow whistled down, but through the driving wind and rain the archer had missed its mark, and it flew wide of Dilnrae's shoulder. Another arrow and a slingstone followed, but the escapees had realized that the storm was adequate protection if they kept moving and merely stepped up their pace.

Then Nadin snagged his footpaw on a tree root – somehow still anchored firmly in the blackened soil – and sprawled face first in the muck. Yoofus slid to a stop, skidding in the slick mud, and crouched low over his companion to help him to his paws. But Nadin's bad footpaw had twisted again, and as he fell he had been cracked squarely on the jaw by the slab of stone in the ground below his head and was out cold for the rest of the night.

"Dilnrae!" Yoofus hissed, "help me!"

Together, avoiding a shower of slingstones and arrows, the mouse and vole knelt and – Yoofus taking his arms and Dilnrae his legs – hoisted the unconscious ferret to chest height and hastily straitened. Too hastily. Failing to look up the slope to check that the coast was momentarily clear, Yoofus suddenly pitched forward with a screech of pain. Dilnrae lowered Nadin to the ground and gripped the volethief hard by his good shoulder.

"'Tis only an arrow, ya can still use yer arm. Git movin'!"

Struggling not to cry out with the pain, Yoofus snapped the shaft off as low as he could and dropped the flighted end. Giving his injury little more than a precious half minute, he lifted Nadin again. Arrows flew by them as they struggled down the slope with their burden, some pinging frighteningly close to them on the stones. Shouts could be heard above, some angry, others commanding. Blood and water, fear and urgency all seemed to blur to the volethief as he fought the pain of the barbed arrowhead embedded in his shoulder while keeping the unconscious ferret firmly supported off the ground.

And suddenly they were there. The trees rose silent and strong around the trio, like sentinels standing guard against the vermin behind them. The wind blew a little less strongly here, the rain not so much like wet daggers as like falling water. Undergrowth was not plentiful – indeed, this close to the cliff even the trees were fire-scarred and the ground soot-choked – but it was shelter. And that was all that mattered at that moment.

As soon as the cliff tops were out of sight, Yoofus dropped Nadin to the ground and leaned against a tree, gasping as the pain in his shoulder increased with the released pressure. Dilnrae, only a short time before lobbying to charge the yelling crowds of vermin amassed against them, now pushed his rescuer into a sitting position. "Stay dere; I'll take care o' dat arrer wound."

As the mouse expertly extracted the arrowhead and bound a few dockleaves he had scrounged from a nearby hollow to the wound using a strip cut from the volethief's tunic, Yoofus watched him with puzzlement. "Where did ye learn an 'ealer's trade?"

Dilnrae shrugged. "Bein' a wanderer ya tend ta pick up wot ya live wid."

He would say no more; merely urged Yoofus back to his paws, this time draping Nadin across his own shoulders and gripping the ferret firmly in a secure clasp over his chest. Stumbling along, the pair forgot all chances of pursuit. The only thought in their minds was getting to the river to find shelter and rest.

Gurgling ahead announced their arrival at their destination. Locating a small shelf in the lee of an undercut bank, Dilnrae and Yoofus pressed Nadin into the far back and curled up in front of his body, sheltering him from the rain. Yoofus crept along the riverbank and returned after a short time with his haversack, which he had hidden at a recognizable spot a short distance from their present location. Drawing out two oatcakes and an apple, he gave one of the former to Dilnrae and sliced the latter cleanly in half with his dagger.

Dilnrae ate like a ravenous wolf. Remembering that the mouse had been a starved slave for a long time, Yoofus plucked another oatcake and a package of cheese and dried fruit from his bag. The mouse gulped them down hungrily, taking several long, slow drinks of the clean river water to wash them down.

Finally he licked his lips and stretched. "Thankee fer dat; I ain't eaten food like dat fer two seasons naow! 'Tis good t' feel like a real beast agin!"

Yoofus winced at the thought and turned to the unconscious Nadin, studying the egg-sized lump on his head. "Yer welcome, me ould son. 'Ere, will ye take this strip o' me tunic an' soak it in th' river? I'm goin' t' wrap it 'round Nadin's 'ead fer a bandage."

The mouse did as he was bidden, and Yoofus bound the cool piece of cloth firmly around the ferret's head, sliding a few more bits of cloth in to pad the bump. As he finished, he looked up with a start to see Dilnrae sitting erect on a stone a few paces away, a spear ready in his paws and his eyes scanning the limited range of vision around them.

Yoofus sprang up and strode towards him. "What're ye doin, mate?"

"Standin' guard; wot do it look like?" the mouse snapped with a flash of his former aggressive attitude. "We're only a few furlongs from de enemy camp; we need a set watch if'n we're gonna spend de night 'ere."

Yoofus plucked the spear from his paws. "I'm still rather fresh, compared t' ye; get some shuteye, an' I'll wake ye fer yer shift."

††

_Clack._

Yoofus sat bolt upright, rubbing his aching shoulder and blinking sleep from his eyes. He must have dozed off, he realized with annoyance as he crouched down and peered up and down the river. His ordinarily keen senses would have detected danger long before this if he hadn't.

The rain had stopped sometime in the middle of the night, and now, the predawn silence, mist had risen from the river, shrouding the banks in its hushed presence. The steady drip, drip, drip of rainwater from leaves could be heard everywhere. But the strange clacking sound hadn't been repeated; the volethief decided he must have imagined it.

The bankvole was just turning to wake Dilnrae so that they could get an early start away from the vicinity of Valamarus when the clacking sound came again. This time it was accompanied by a sudden barrage of voices.

"Knock that off, Divver, ye nearly upset th' logboat!"

"Go boil yore snout, Turry, yer th' 'un who nearly brained me wid th' end o' dat daft paddle o' yourn! I 'twas only dodgin' it!"

"Was not!"

"Was to!"

"Was not!"

"Was –"

"Shaddup!" bellowed a third voice. "There's vermin abouts, an' you two muckheads 'ave jus' gone an' alerted everybeast fer miles dat we're 'ere!" There was a rasping sound, as of a sword being drawn. "If'n you two buffoons don't clam up an' use what thistledown you've got fer brains, I'll –"

Yoofus smiled; he knew that voice. Cupping his paws around his mouth, he roared lustily, "Logalogalogalogaloooooog!"

Dilnrae was on his paws in an instant, ready for action. Yoofus winked at him and waved a paw for silence from the mouse as the third voice called back, "Who goes dere!"

"'Tis me, Togey, ye ol' waterwolloper! Yoofus, th' volethief! Permission t' come aboard?"

"Permission granted! Be there in two ticks!"

Yoofus pawed about for his haversack, strapping it firmly to his back as he murmured to Nadin, "Those're friends, th' Guosim; they're comin' t' get us. Will ye take Nadin? Me shoulder's gone stiff."

Dilnrae dipped his head, blinking sleepily as he bent to place the ferret across his strong back.

A moment later, when the prow of Log-a-Log Togey's logboat hove into view through the mists, the curious trio was already standing in the shallows. Nadin was again draped across Dilnrae's shoulders, but Yoofus had taken a moment to resoak the bandage around the ferret's brow and water was still trickling across the former slave's face. Dilnrae – mud-streaked, rain-soaked, and still half asleep – had his gaze fixed on the water about his footpaws. Yoofus was the only one who was paying any attention to the approaching logboats, dagger at the ready but his face intent on meeting his old friend.

Togey stood in the foremost part of the prow. Leaning forward, he used a pole to stop his boat's forward momentum by thrusting it into the riverbed and holding it firmly. Then he sprang down to grip Yoofus' paw heartily, exclaiming with gusto, "Fancy meetin' ye 'ere, ye ol' panwolloper!"

Yoofus returned the shake with enthusiasm. "Ye took th' words out o' me mouth, vittlesnout!" Then he grew serious. "Togey, ye'd probably like t' get out o' 'ere now. There's a pack of vermin five times the size of yer whole forces settled back there, an' these two –" he pointed to Nadin and Dilnrae – "'re escaped slaves from there."

"A vermin!" Togey's voice was a mixture of anger and disbelief as he stared at the unconscious form of Nadin. "He was a slave?"

"Aye, an' 'e's been injured." Yoofus rubbed his shoulder. "An' so 'ave I. Could ye get us some treatment – an' food – afore th' day's much older?"

Togey plucked Nadin's limp body from Dilnrae and easily hefted him over the side of the logboat into the waiting paws of two shrews. He sprang up after the ferret, lending a paw to the mouse and vole. "Sure, ye're jokin, mate? Who e're 'eard o' th' Guosim not bein' able t' treat th' injured or feed 'ungry guests?"

Yoofus grinned, relaxing completely for the first time since he saw the gorge. "Thanks, Togey."

As hasty introductions were made between the shrews and the new arrivals, a hum of activity settled over the fleet of five logboats. Oars dipped and rose steadily, creating a moving beat as their gleaming blades dipped up and down. A wizened old shrewwife, whom Log-a-Log Togey introduced as Bianka, took Nadin under her care. If a bit skeptical at first about treating a vermin, she quickly warmed to the task and soon was busy putting a real poultice and bandage on his injury and forcing some bitter-smelling concoction down his throat. Yoofus attempted to approach to see how the ferret was doing, but Bianka chased him off. "I've given 'im some tonic an' 'ee's sleeping naturally now. Ee'll be up an' about in th' mornin', but 'ee needs rest. Shoo, away wi' ye! I'll be with ye in a tick t' see to yer shoulder."

Yoofus hastily retreated to join Dilnrae near the prow of the logboat. The two watched the Guosim shrews expertly handling their oars for some time, both drifting into the beginnings of sleep. Yoofus thought briefly about how quickly the Guosim seemed to have taken to Nadin, although perhaps that was only because of his weakened state. And what about Melanda . . . what was happening to her? Yoofus winced, forcing his mind elsewhere. There was no use mooning over what had happened in the past; he had chosen to save two lives instead of throwing away four, and there was no going back on his decision.

He just hoped Melanda had gone swiftly.

_

* * *

Hmm, getting a bit interesting, isn't it? Well, I'm just going to torment you by making this an extra long wait for the next chapter! *wicked grin* Just kidding!_

_Soooo, what did you think? I struggled for a long time to try not to make the fight part where Melanda's being attacked too – cheesy. I'm worried I made it too easy for her; she's too super-hero-ish (meaning she fights insanely well and isn't taking a good give wounds/take wounds percentage)._

_I'm TRYING to catch up on all your stories, be patient!_

_Think that's all for now, so . . ._

_Foeseeker_


	41. Battles Unknown

_40: Battles Unknown_

Blacktalon and Pikewing were brothers, sleek sparrows with powerful talons and strong wings, built for battle with tempers to match. In classic Sparra form, they were constantly squabbling with each other – and were all the closer for it, in that strange way of brothers who show their affections for each other by beating each other black and blue. Blacktalon was the larger of the pair, with savage glittering black eyes and powerful claws as black as soot. Pikewing was smaller but much more adroitly built, with swept-back wings and a streamlined body shaped not unlike a somewhat dumpy arrow. Both were keen-eyed, quick-minded birds with a head for stealth and strategy. Together, the pair was a formidable match for any opponent, for each knew the other's weaknesses and cooperated with each other's strengths. Something to be greatly admired in a pair of airborne warriors fighting tandem.

At present they were on a slightly different mission from that of the battlefield. Their leader, King Furyhawk, had assigned them to track the limp body they were now watching from high above, flying in broad, lazy circles through the rain. The weather was of no concern to the pair of warriors, who easily adapted to any situation with an ease brought on by seasons of difficult training.

Pikewing dipped the tip of his wing, gliding a bit lower as he studied the group of hordebeasts that was forging towards the castle through the rain. "Hm, badda wormbeasts norra notice Sparra," he muttered.

Blacktalon clacked his beak at his brother in annoyance. "Don'ta getta close to 'em, stinky worms! We don'ta wanta 'em ta see us!"

Pikewing soared back up to join his brother, grumbling. "I norra lettem see me. See, they norra even look up for Sparra!"

Blacktalon's face wrinkled with disgust. "Stupid featherbrains, wonder if they even know Sparra dangerous!"

Pikewing narrowed his eyes. "They knowem soon!"

"Look!" Blacktalon interrupted. "Bigga wormbuilding open door, letting um worms in!"

Pikewing let out a hiss of breath. "We haffa work fastum! If badda wormbeasts get inside bigga building, we not able to watch anymore!"

Blacktalon angled his flight downward towards an ornamental niche halfway up the wall of the castle, almost directly above the massive entrance. "Get youm wormtail down here! We hide 'till time right. I have plan!"

††

Melanda was jerked back into consciousness by a hard slap on her cheek and a beast yelling down her ear. Feebly baring her teeth at the rat, she let herself recover slowly as life seeped back into her numbed, battered, bloody body.

She was being dragged down a stone road by two hordebeasts, who were gripping her firmly by the shoulders and hauling her bodily along. Blood was trickling from a gash over her eye; some of the sticky liquid had crusted over her eyelid, sealing it shut. Another wound ran the length of her ribs, sending lances of pain through her every time it bumped against one of the guards. An arrow – the last injury she had received before blacking out – had gone clean through her thigh. Fate had somehow guided it to only pierce the flesh on the outside, instead of striking more on center and tearing at muscle and bone. A score of other wounds, gashes, and hurts decorated her person, leaving drops of blood on the road that were swiftly washed away by rain and tramping paws.

A scraping sound ahead made her glance up. The imposing shadow of the castle was looming up before them. At the end of the road, beyond an imposing-looking drawbridge and portcullis rose the double oaken gate, swinging horribly slowly open to reveal several captains and guards standing in the entry. All of them seemed to be waiting, like snakes poised to strike for some bit of helpless prey.

She was the prey.

Blinking, gasping for breath, Melanda's groggy brain struggled to piece together was was happening, what she had to do. But pain made her head swim, exhaustion made her slow and dazed. Nothing seemed to be making sense. She could just remember the fight, the horror at realizing she was abandoned by her friends, then blackness. Now everything was a wet, aching vortex that made her dizzy.

"All right, ''urry up there!"

The harsh voice of Captain Marcius made the squirrelmaid's ears ring. Shaking her head as she struggled to clear it, she focused on the scarlet sash the vole captain wore crosswise over his left shoulder to his right hip. The bright color was easy to center on in the murky darkness of the nighttime storm, especially since he was carrying a sputtering torch to guide the way for his patrol of hordebeasts.

A roaring sound distracted Melanda's attention. They had reached the stone span which reached towards the castle, ending some twenty paces from where the massive building reared its way out of the river. In ordinary weather there was a narrow strip of land by the base of the wall, wide enough for a small cart to run by without getting wet. But the storm had deposited far more water in the gorge than the river was used to carrying. Now the raging water was thundering against the foundations of the castle, sending spray onto the creatures on the bridge. It was like a hungry wild thing, uncaring who or what it devoured so long as it was satisfied.

_Whump!_

One of the guards gripping Melanda screeched and fell backward, clutching his shoulder. There was another whump, and the other guard collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from where his eye had been a moment before. Bedlam broke out in the ranks. None of the hordebeasts had seen what had struck their comrades; all eyes turned hither and thither, seaching wildly for the attacker. In their panic they forgot Melanda, who staggered unsteadily to her paws.

"Kiiillleeeeeee!"

Pikewing and Blacktalon came hurtling down out of the murky sky, screeching their battle cry. Arrows began to zip upward from the milling mass of hordebeasts, but the two Sparra warriors avoided them with contemptuous grace. Alternatively circling upward and dive-bombing the half-crazed mob of vermin, they kept their enemies' attention diverted completely from the squirrelmaid.

Melanda looked about, confused by the commotion and dazed by the speed of the action. She couldn't go forward; she would walk right into the castle. Backward through the mob of vermin was out of the question – she'd just be captured again. To either side was the roaring river. It would be suicide to jump into that, that tumbling, churning torrent of mad water. Escape was impossible here; why were the sparrows attacking her captors?

Of a sudden she felt the brush of wet wings against her shoulders, and the sleeker of the two sparrows – Pikewing – was fluttering about her head. "Jump, jumpa inta water, treemouse! They norra follow you! Jump!"

"Into that?!" the squirrelmaid gasped, shrinking back from the edge of the bridge. "I'll just kill myself doing that!"

"Jump!" he snarled at her. Without ceremony he drew back a short distance, avoiding an arrow, and flew full tilt at her shoulders. Melanda was thrown forward several paces by the force of the blow. Falling halfway to her knees, she gasped out, "No need for that!"

Now Blacktalon was with them. Wincing at the pain of an arrow in his foot, he hissed at Pikewing, "I thought you gonna get treemouse inta water!"

"Won't go!" Pikewing snapped back. The two sparra circled away, avoiding the vermin attacks. Then they charged the squirrelmaid again.

The combined force of their impetus threw Melanda hard forward – almost on the edge of the bridge. There was a yell behind her as the vermin noticed their captive again. A paw gripped her shoulder, only to be torn away by Pikewing's spearing beak. The strong Sparra warrior hooked a claw into the tattered shoulder of the squirrelmaid's habbit. "You jumpa now!"

"No!" Melanda yelled back.

"Then I make you!" With a heave he hurled himself forward over the edge of the bridge, dragging the squirrelmaid with him. The worn, ragged fabric of the garment tore as Melanda's weight went into it, almost dragging the sparrow down with the sudden wight to his claw. He steadied himself, letting rip with the prearranged battle cry to signal to Blacktalon that their mission had been accomplished.

"Killeee aaaalllll!"

††

Down, down, down she sank. Or was she? Water filled her mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, clogging her senses and sealing her in a world of churning, pounding, thundering darkness. She struggled to swim to the surface, but a surge of water above her pushed her back down again. Mercilessly, the water's icy fingers began to wind themselves around her consciousness. Stars danced in her brain; she had to get air! No matter if the vermin spotted her; all she needed was air. _Air._ AIR. _AIR!_

Her paws churned the murky liquid around her, pushing her in some direction that she knew not. Gravity was non-existent; in the turbulent water up could be down and down could be up, only to change places an instant later. Debris – sticks, leaves, mud, and grit – swept around her, only confusing her senses further.

Then, with a _whoosh_ that was like the sound of jubilant bells ringing to the half-drowned squirrelmaid's ears, Melanda's head broke the surface. Gasping like a landed fish, she attempted to tread water in the churning flood, but a surge of water crashed down on her, sending her down into the blackness again.

But now she knew which direction life lay, and she struck out again for it. Time seemed to last an eternity as she fought her way upward, but it was really wasn't even a quarter of a minute before her muzzle broke the surface again. This time – what luck! – a fine cob of branch was heading strait towards her. Melanda twined her paws into the twigs that bristled from its midsection, hauling her sopping body over it. Gasping in precious gulps of life-giving air, she laid her dripping cheek down on the soggy wood. So tired now that she didn't care, the abbeymaid let herself slide into unconsciousness.

††

Pikewing circled above the limp form on the water, his keen eyes tracking its every move. Blacktalon was laboring along behind, the arrow in his foot unbalancing his weight and making his flight path waver. The pain was distracting him, further hampering his flight. Both sparrows were drenched in the unmerciful downpour of rain. Their feathers clumped together on their bodies, allowing warmth to escape. Their wings felt heavy, and each flap showed the effort they were putting into the work. Both were exhausted; the fighting, dodging, and chasing were taking their toll on even their fast-paced metabolisms.

Blacktalon, panting slightly, pointed with his beak through the rain. "Looka! End of gorge comin'! Good to get outa badda wormplace!"

"Tachaa!" Pikewing grumbled. "We stillum not getta dry 'til we getta bushtail out. Huh, why not all beasts growa wings ana fly likeum Sparra!"

They flew on towards the gorge tip. Here, the riverbed had been channeled into the furthest tip of the gorge walls and exited Valamarus through a culvert of sorts. Though not as heavily guarded as the four gates of Deathclaw's realm, the culvert was still a forbidding place for enemies to venture. Usually, two large portcullis-like grilles were lowered down into the culvert from the tower above, which had been built into the cliff and hillside outer slope of the gorge. The culvert then ran under the slope almost to the woodland fringe, where it gushed out into a small pond or lake of sorts. From there it gurgled its way back to its original source – the river Moss.

But in this foul weather, the twin portcullises had been raised to accommodate all the debris that was being washed down the river that would otherwise get trapped against the iron bars and clog up the culvert. There was no danger of enemies getting in with the water so wild, so no extra guards were mounted to watch the now-open culvert. Besides, even if a slave did hurl itself into the raging waters, it was sure to be drowned in the close confines of the underground channel.

Blacktalon and Pikewing had seen the culvert and its guard tower earlier as they flew over it from the southeast, and they knew that Melanda's fate was now out of their paws – or talons. So, altering course, they rose over the cliff edge and selected a somewhat sheltered treetop at the forest fringe with a good view of the pond to rest until they spotted their charge exiting the culvert mouth. Pikewing immediately set about fixing his plumage, which had bee ruffled by the storm.

"Brrr! By my tail, this blowstorm be worstest in many seasons!"

Blacktalon was busy trying to extract the arrow from his foot. He glowered darkly at his brother, muttering under his breath as he tugged at the shaft, "Huh! Ifa some bigga bottom would stick its wormhead inna beehive, fat chance this hurt bird woulda care!"

Pikewing narrowed his eyes. "Youm say that 'gain, beetlebeak, ana I'll –"

"Whya you notem help me getta badum flystick outa my foot, eh? Do that ana we can fight afterward!"

"'Kay, 'kay!" Pikewing shifted his position so that he was sitting right next to Blacktalon. Bending down, he studied the arrow shaft. "Hm, thisa gonna hurt, but I not get it out any other wayum." He delt the shaft just before the head a single, powerful blow with his beak. Blacktalon gasped with pain as the arrow bent and pressed agaisnt the flesh inside the wound, but the arrowhead – a clean, smooth thing without barbs – fell to the ground with a faint clink.

Pikewing grinned at his brother. "Feela better now?"

Blacktalon gave him a threatening stare as he twisted his head and plucked the shaft from his foot, grimacing with pain. "It feela better after I beat youm wormbrains out ona branch!"

Pikewing was about to retaliate when he spotted something. "Krakaa! What that be, there?"

Blacktalon swiveled his head around to look without shifting his injured foot. "Where?"

"By reeds, there. See bigga deadtree stickin' up nexta 'em? Jus' below high part." Pikewing began gesticulating with his wing as he tried to indicate the position of the object in question, accidentally giving Blacktalon a sound buffet on the side of the head, unbalancing him.

The other sparrow teetered on the branch for a moment, then slid sideways and spread his wings, allowing the blow's force to send him into the air. "Let'sa go look ana see what it is!"

Pikewing grinned wickedly as he followed his brother. "Ana afterward we can hava goodum fight!"

††

"Melanda? Melanda!"

"Huh, wha'?"

"Melanda, wake up; you dozed off!"

Melanda stretched groggily, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Then she sat bolt upright with a start. She wasn't perched on a splintered bit of wood, soaking wet and drifting down the flooded river in the predawn hours. No; she was lying beneath an apple tree on a pleasant summer afternoon in Redwall's orchard, with the lazy buzzing of bees in the garden coming faintly to her ears and the twittering of birds beyond the abbey walls creating an air of relaxation and calm. It was as if nothing had ever happened here, as if life had gone on in the same peaceful way in this place for scores upon scores of seasons.

"Surprised, eh?"

Melanda sprang to her paws, whirling around to confront the speaker. When she saw him, she nearly jumped out of her skin with surprise.

It was the same squirrel who had appeared to her before, the one who had called himself Rocc Arrem. He had claimed to be her father's ancestor, and had sent her on the mission that had resulted in her capture by the hordes of Deathclaw. Then – in her first dream – he had been carrying a handsome sword and wearing full armor. Now, he wore only a simple tunic of russet brown bound around the waist with a slim belt of braided sand-colored twine. The scars on his face and limbs seemed to fade in vividness with the removal of his armor, but the simple color of his garb made them all the more apparent because of their contrasting hue. His eyes – hauntingly like Tam's eyes – seemed to find their way into the squirrelmaid, warming her heart.

Melanda was not going to give in to such looks this time. She eyed him coldly, studying his change of garb with cool disregard. Last time she had seen this great warrior she had been overawed by his commanding presence; this time she merely weighed him up like some stranger who is not fully to be trusted. She had lost all confidence in him since her capture and enslavement. She had found nothing, seen nothing, that would assist Redwall in its defense against this seemingly unbeatable horde – and fallen into the cruel paws of vermin in her efforts. All thanks to this – this – _liar_, this _fraud_ – standing before her. Mentally seething, the squirrelmaid managed to keep her voice even as she struggled to express her thoughts in civil language. Every word was tight with restrained anger and dripped with disappointment and scorn.

"I see you've come back to continue your torment of me. You can just as well leave now; I've learned my lesson and you're definitely not going to have a welcome listener here ever again. Ever! Do you understand me?"

Rocc Arrem looked rather taken aback by her vehement manner, but he stayed calm as he replied, "It was in your life's path to walk through Deathclaw's realm; nothing I – or anyone else – could do would have changed that."

"But you betrayed me!" Melanda was loosing patience, and fast. "You could have at least told me that! but no; every word from your depraved mouth was about treasure and rewards, treasure and rewards! Not one syllable of warning!"

"I was doing what I had been told to do!" Rocc Arrem protested.

"That's a pretty lame argument. Why don't you tell me next that yesterday the flying mole – who just so happens to live with his cousin the swimming ferret next door to you – sent you to deliver a box of fresh gooshiggles to the walking adder just beyond the meadow of fizzy daisies? Well?" She shot a paw out towards him, but was too far away from him to touch. Even so, she had her effect; he jumped with surprise.

"Hey, no need for violence! For your information, it was Martin himself who gave me that message!"

"Then go tell him to swim with the birds, is all I can say!" Melanda was in a stewing rage by now, and fighting to keep her aggressive impulses under control.

Rocc Arrem's eyes opened wide. Clearly he had never dreamed of a born-and-bred Redwaller speaking in such a way of the abbey's greatest hero. "But – but you haven't finished doing as you were instructed. Until you do, there will be no peace and everybeast – including yourself – will suffer!"

"I don't believe that! And neither do you!" The enraged squirrelmaid took a stride forward and gripped him firmly by the front of the tunic. She continued her tirade, punctuating each word with a small shake of his garb. "Every day, until the end of time, somebeast will suffer every day! No one – you, me, Martin, or all of us put together – can prevent that! And you know it just as well as I do!"

Rocc Arrem didn't flinch as she shook him, though the shakes got more and more violent as Melanda worked herself up more and more. His eyes, however, were wide with shock at her behavior and – was it possible – even a little afraid of the enraged beast before him. "I do know that! I meant that the threat of Valamarus to Redwall will be over forever once you complete your mission!"

"Forever, eh?" The squirrel from bygone seasons suddenly found himself winded and flat on his back, with the perfect picture of irate fury standing over him. 'Forever' is an empty word! There is no 'forever', just like there is no 'never'! If you want to know the meaning of forever, stay right there until trees have tea with clouds and berries eat themselves!"

Melanda spun on her heel, stalking off with her bushy red tail bristling like porcupine quills. But that was a mistake. A twinkling later, _she_ was the one flat on her back, staring up at the panting warrior over her. And this time there was no gentleness or leeway in his manner.

"You'd better listen to what I'm going to say, young missie, or you're going to be sorry you were ever born!"

_

* * *

Hm, what did you think? I know my dream sequence was a little – unusual, but I thought it fitted the circumstances more than well. Oh, and just a question, did I make Pikewing and Blacktalon Sparra-ish enough? I was having some difficulty with that, so I'd really like to hear back on that._

_Hey, don't blame me for the late update! The internet went haywire and wouldn't connect! :-/  
_

_Please review!_

_Foeseeker_


	42. Tense Moments

_41: Tense Moments_

"Wake up! Lin, wake up! Ye've got t' see this!"

Lin blinked groggily, her mind still half in the world of darkness and dreams. She could see the blurred form of a squirrel beside her bed, the voice of whom was dimly familiar. "Huh? Wha'?"

"Lin, they've spotted land! Come an' look!"

_Land!_ That brought the squirrelmaid down to earth hard and fast. Twisting her way out from under her light blanket, she shook her long tunic out strait and ran her claws rapidly through her tousled headfur, the only ceremonies she usually performed upon awakening. "What direction from our position?"

The squirrel stood to attention, snapping out his answer while staring strait ahead. "Southeast an' two points east. Marm!"

Lin pulled a cord sash from the wall hook where she kept her few possessions, hastily looping it around her waist and knotting it securely. As she strode from the cabin she gave the squirrel a playful rap on the shoulder which nearly knocked him down. "Call me 'marm' again and I'll show you the backside of my axe," she joked, already on her way to the deck.

The squirrel trotted after her, grinning. Lin now recognized him as Lurri, the squirrel who, along with Oakfur, had informed her on Slarave's condition two days before. _He looks nice,_ she thought with a half-smile. His tunic was a few sizes too big for him, and his headfur stuck up at an odd angle on his forehead. He stood almost a full head taller than Lin and appeared to be in his early twenties in seasons, but somehow he seemed to have the maturity of a far younger squirrel. His floppy rope belt, frayed at the ends, completed the picture of a tattered, good-natured urchin who cared nothing for appearances.

"There; see?" Lurri pointed to a spot on the horizon as they emerged onto the top deck.

"I don't see – oh, there it is!" Lin felt a chill of excitement run down her spine as she saw the dark smudge that could only be a mountaintop lying on the horizon, illuminated by the rising sun. It was familiar, achingly so. An image of ships peacefully floating in the island harbor, Tarentians and Volkendians busy about the docks flitted across Lin's memory. Volkendo. _I wonder if they'll know what's happened – or have they already been taken over? What if they've been attacked?_ Lin gulped, suddenly realizing that she had not thought this out very clearly. They could be sailing right into a nest of enemies. Should they wait until dark . . .? No, the supply of fresh water was running low and the Foeseekers had been cramped in the ships for too long. And they'd have to get off at some point, so they might as well do it in the daylight when they could at least see what they were getting themselves into.

"Mornin' Lin! Ready for a bit o' bally brekkers, wot?" Shorelad was waving down from the crow's nest of the foremast.

"I sure am, and I'll be scoffing all of yours before you finish your shift!" Lin teased as she waved back, her good mood somewhat restored.

Shorelad pulled a mock sad face. "Ah, the pretty chapesses, always lookin' down their delicate noses at we poor chaps, wot. Wonder if'n one'll ever think so jolly kindly as to save a blinkin' biscuit for me?"

Lurri guffawed at the hare. "Y'ole glutton! By midday we'll be restin' on yonder island, eatin' our 'earts out! Ye could do with the fast in the meantime; I think this ship is ridin' lower than it was last evenin' due to yer waistline!"

"That's tellin' 'em, laddie!" Doogy chuckled as he heaved himself up out of the hatch behind them. "Ah've lived wid three o' those Salamandastron 'ares fer four seasons, an' trust me, if'n ye e'er 'ave the option never sit next to one o' them durin' a meal. They'd steal the bread out from under yer nose an' pity themselves later fer no' gettin' more tae eat!"

Lin grinned, and Lurri laughed outright. Shorelad turned his back on the group, remarking huffily to the squirrel above him, "Huh, the manners of those three! For two shakes I'd go on down and show 'em what jolly ole eatin' well an' a few flippin' boxin' lessons can teach a chap, wot!"

The squirrel flicked an apple seed at him, taking a big bite of the remaining piece of fruit in his paw and grinning at the hare. "An' I could show ye what eatin' lightly and fightin' hard can teach a chap. Now belt up an' keep watch, like yer supposed to!"

††

By midday the island was in plain view. Squirrels lined the decks of the small fleet, watching the shore. Six small, sleek ships were resting just off the beach, like tigers crouching between their prey and the water hole. From the sleek lines, the elongated triangular sails, and the cupped hulls of the half-dozen craft Lin had identified them as ships built in the Volkendian style, though she could say nothing of the creatures sailing them; the distance between the fleets was too far for identification of species. At the bow of the _Dawn Queen_ Captain Nauctus was peering out over the waves, his tail shielding his eyes from the glaring midday sun. A hush had fallen over the ships, quite the reversal of the morning's happy air. A feeling of foreboding had sunk in as the Foeseekers and their companions had realized that the inhabitants of Volkendo, whoever they were, were not going to open their arms wide in welcome. This was a military approach.

Lin turned from the rail to glance over those assembled on deck. Warriors were spread thickly over the wooden planking, all watching the six craft near the island. Scattered among them were a number of the young and the old; those not strong enough or not skilled enough to fight, if it came to that. Lin glanced back at the six ships, waiting silently. Much as she wanted to believe that they were friends, there was no point in taking risks. She spoke a few curt words to a pair of squirrels, who helped her flip an empty water barrel on end. Three sharp bangs on the hollow wooden cask with a sword hilt got the attention of all gathered on deck. Heads turned towards the sound, whispers of puzzlement flitting from mouth to mouth.

Lin waited until the hushed murmurs had died down before issuing her commands. "All those unable to fight please go below decks! If it does come to weapons, I don't want more casualties than can be helped. Every able-bodied beast up for the task, please find a weapon of some kind and gather on deck. A show of arms never hurt anyone."

Tam gave her an approving glance as figures started to drift towards the hatches. "You're really getting the hang of this leadership business, Lin."

Lin sighed. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not."

Lurri, who was standing at the tiller, looked shocked. "Why wouldn't it be a good thing?"

"When this is over I'm going to have to hand the reins of leading you back to Slarave. The way I'm leading that's going to be much harder than it should."

Lurri scowled. "You should stay our leader! Slarave'll just make us slaves agin!"

"Excuse me?"

Lurri whipped around with a gasp to stare at Slarave. "Sorr-rry. I didn't mean it!"

"That had better be true," the big black squirrel growled as she passed him. Lin winced. That wasn't a good sign. Slarave might have been a bit humbled from her near-drowning, but she was by no means broken. Her proud spirit was keeping her from her tribe, and there really wasn't anything Lin could do about it. It irked her. She tried not to let it show as Slarave approached with a businesslike air. "What's the plan?"

_Even she's asking me for orders._ Lin glanced at Tam, but he only lifted his eyebrows to tell her to continue. The squirrelmaid gritted her teeth. "I don't yet have a plan, Slarave."

The Foeseeker leader narrowed her eyes. "It should be simple enough."

"What's that?" Lin kept her voice smooth; maybe a little too smooth. Slarave curled her bushy tail with annoyance.

"We attack them. We outnumber them; those ships can't hold more than twoscore each."

"We don't know what we're getting ourselves into. For all you know those ships could be vermin craft."

"They're too well built to be vermin craft."

"They could have stolen them."

Lin scowled. "This is getting us nowhere!" She turned to watch the shore again. "The _Dawn Queen_ will be in the lead; all the others will be right behind her in a triangular line. We will sail right up to them, as far as the depth will allow us. There's no point in trying to avoid them; they'll just follow us."

"The _Dawn Queen_ first?" Tam was startled. "Why not have all the ships together?"

"That would appear too much like a shoulder to shoulder charge. A swept pattern will still look aggressive but it will be more open and will give them a sense of maneuverability. If it is vermin it will tempt them to split into two groups, and then we can attack them more easily. If it is Volkendians they will hold their position and probably charge us in a strait line and try to block us off."

Slarave frowned at Lin's reasoning. "Why would they – if they're Volkendians – do that?"

"They're not warriors; they're merchants, like the Tarentians. They have, however, had a few run-ins with vermin. Based off these experiences – and the fact that they're a coordinated group, not a mad rabble – they work as a team, instead of just charging individually." Lin shrugged. "I've never actually seen them practice, but I know they're pretty good."

Slarave gave her a disbelieving look as she turned to watch the six ships. "And what should I do?" she asked in a voice that was dangerously close to patronizing.

_You were acting so defeated and weak when I was talking to you after the accident. Were's that attitude now?_ Lin growled to herself in frustration. "Will you please oversee the raising of the signal flags to tell the other ships what we're doing? Kary, Xerin, and Ykoto know how to use them, but they tend to get in each other's ways."

Slarave seemed about to say more, but she abruptly cut off her comment and strode off, her back stiff and her tail bristling. Lin watched her go. _Not only do I have an enemy in the ranks of vermin, I have an opponent in my own army. Which is more dangerous?_

"You okay?" Oakfur slipped away from the milling mass of squirrels around the hatches and sidled up to the brooding squirrelmaid, a stout hickory stick held easily in one paw.

Lin gave him a small smile. "Just fretting over things. Don't worry about it."

He frowned. "If it's Slarave that's bothering you, don't bother yourself with that; she irritates everybeast."

"Well, it's that. But really its –"

"Hiya, Oakfur, whatcha doin' here?" Lurri sauntered up with a grin, twirling a loaded sling. "Where's your weapon?"

"This staff is my weapon, thank you very much," Oakfur snapped, flicking his hickory stick in front of Lurri's face. Lin was startled by the sharpness of his tone. What was going on between these two that there would be such anger in her friend's voice?

"That's a weapon? How d' ye use it?" Lurri looked incredulous as he tapped the stick with the stone in his sling.

"I can give you some firsthand experience by cracking it over your skull," Oakfur muttered.

Tension was steadily increasing between the two, and Lin could feel her paw instinctively inching towards her axe. She locked her claws into her belt to keep from following the rash impulse, hearing her own voice speaking. "Both of you, stop! Please!"

Her tone was sharper than she had intended – even, perhaps, a bit desperate. Both Oakfur and Lurri broke off their silent menacing to stare at her in surprise.

Lin took quick advantage of their attention. "We can fight each other later; right now we have six ships full of enemies to deal with. Lurri, will you please go see what you can do at the tiller? I know you're a good steersbeast, and Captain Nauctus can always use a helping paw."

Lurri saluted smartly and trotted off to comply. Lin turned to Oakfur, puzzled. "What was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing. Lurri and I – well, we've never been best of friends." Oakfur avoided a direct answer, staring at the deck. Lin almost thought she saw his cheeks flush.

"Is there anything more specific?" she asked.

"Er – no." He didn't look up.

"Oakfur, please."

"I – I'll tell you some other time. It'll take some explaining."

"Okay." She smiled at him. "I –"

A whizzing sound interrupted her. The two young squirrels instinctively threw themselves flat, but the missile passed over their heads and landed with a thud on the deck. Crosow, standing near the prow by the for'ard anchor, was the first to reach it. He pounced on it with a quiver of excitement, his paws fumbling awkwardly with the strange object. "'Tis a bloomin' message, wot!"

A small argument about the bit of parchment broke out, but Lin grabbed the missile, turning it over in her paw. "It's a bola!" she exclaimed, eyes shining as she ran the tips of her claws over the curious thing. Two elongated stones were fastened together with a piece of cord almost as long as a dirk blade. A small loop was located at the midpoint on the cord between the stones.

"Bola?" Doogy was puzzled. "Wot by the great northern mountains is tha'?"

"A bola is the missile shot by a Volkendian catapult," Lin explained eagerly. "This is a smaller one, but it must have been shot with their larger machines; usually ones this size are twirled an thrown on a paw-held hooked stick, and those most definitely don't go as far as this one did."

"What does the message say?" demanded Slarave, who had joined the group.

Oakfur tugged at the corner of the parchment. "Read it, Crosow!"

The hare twitched his ears importantly. "Very well, wot wot! 'Ere's wot it says:

"I am Takora Greatclub, Master of all Volkendian ships. Are you friend or foe of Volkendo? Be warned; we are armed. Signal your response to us or risk our weapons."

"Master of all Volkendian ships?" Redbud, standing next to Crosow, blinked confusedly at Lin.

"Their fancy term for the chief or leader," Lin said impatiently. "Takora – I remember him. He'd just become leader on my last visit to Volkendo."

"Will he let us pass the blockade?" Tam demanded.

"If we get the signal flags up in two shakes, yes." The black squirrelmaid was already bounding aft. "And we'd better hurry; that threat of attack wasn't a joke!"

††

Kary, Xerin, and Ykoto were three small, nimble squirrels with sharp memories and quick eyes. They quietly scurried about, arranging the flags into the correct order to spell out Lin's message. The squirrelmaid watched them, impressed by how they knew what each flag stood for and were able to arrange them to mean words.

As the three squirrels finished a section of three flags, they attached it to a rope which ran up over a wheel on the mast. When the message was complete, Kary bounded up into the rigging to clear away any possible loose ropes that could get tangled around the flags while Ykoto hauled up the string of colored cloth. Xerin carefully paid out the coil of rope, stowing it neatly on a peg at the base of the mast when the whole message was at the proper height and the end of the section of rope in use was twisted tightly around a bracket.

"What does the message say?" Redbud whispered to Lin as they watched the line of opposing ships with apprehension, waiting for a reply.

Lin smiled. "'Holosoka Volkendo'."

Redbud frowned. "Howawatsa? Wot?"

"Holosoka. Volkendo is an island with a rich history, going back much farther than Tarenta. Holosoka is a word found carved in a cave deep in the mountain, and whatever its ancient meaning it became a kind of greeting or welcome for the Volkendians. Few outsiders besides the Tarentians know of it; certainly not any enemies. Takora'll let us through, you'll see."

Sure enough, a few minutes later the ships split, breaking from the rigid line into a loose group. Only one ship remained apart from the others. Crosow tensed as he watched it sailing strait towards the _Dawn Queen_. "Wot're they up to? If'n they're attackin', I'll jolly well give 'em a taste of blood an' vin –"

"All well and good, Crosow, but enough is enough," Lin said firmly, pushing his clenched paws down to his sides. "That's the flagship, I think; the _Porpoise_. If Kalona is actually with the fleet – which I'm sure he is – he'll be on there, coming to meet us. If he's not on it, we'll at least get to talk to a member of the committee."

"Committee?" Tam said the word slowly, as if it tasted strange on his tongue.

"Tell you later," Lin replied with a grin.

The graceful vessel glided up, turning a bit to port and coming to rest about half a bowshot away from the Dawn Queen. The two ships rocked gently in the outgoing tide, the creatures on both ships eying each other with lingering suspicion, yet curiosity. Lin ignored the curious glances of the creatures on the other ship, focusing her attention on the small boat that had been lowered from the larger craft and was now being rowed toward the Dawn Queen.

"Lower a ladder!" Captain Nauctus barked to a small knot of warriors standing near. A rope ladder was quickly found, and willing paws assisted in hooking it to the railing. Lin glanced around at the creatures in her small entourage, murmuring to them, "Tam, Doogy, Oakfur, Captain Nauctus, Slarave, and Crosow, come with me. Redbud, please go down below decks and tell the ones there that the danger is over, and negotiations are taking place. Shorelad, Lurri, please keep this lot on deck quiet until I give you leave."

"What're ye going' tae say?" Doogy muttered to her as the small group approached the knot of hedgehogs, mice, and shrews that were gathered at the rail, watching the black squirrels who stared untrustingly back.

"That's just what I'm wondering myself," Lin said softly.

* * *

_Gah, I'll bet that was the worst cliffhanger in history. Sorry, a lot of this was spur of the moment – I was actually at first planning to have a shark attack them and they would have a kind of race for the island, but I decided against that. Anyway, I wrote almost the entire thing last night, so that's why it's so bad._

_Go on, kill me for my months-long wait for this update. I don't care. Ask me about why on your review, if you want, but I have a LOT of reasons. So if you don't want to be overwhelmed, don't ask._

_What did you think? Not a very good chappie, I know, and the title is bleh. I kinda wanted there to be some fighting, but I changed my mind so they only got a message. Yeah, yeah, the Volkendians could have used signal flags. They just wanted to send a clear message that they would fight. Wait and see who Takora Greatclub is; he'll be in my next Lin-centric chapter._

_Oh yeah; there was an element of something Jade TeaLeaf suggested in here. Thanks for the idea, Jade, although you probably don't remember what it was. C-:_

_God bless! Don't kill me!_

_Foeseeker_


	43. Call Up the Drummer

_42: Call Up the Drummer_

There was an expectant silence on the deck of the _Pearl Queen_ as Lin and the small knot of squirrels and hares behind her drew near to the cluster of Volkendians. They were a mixed bunch, mostly hedgehogs and shrews with an otter and the odd mouse thrown into the company. All of them were eying the equally apprehensive and jittery Foeseekers who stood opposite them, both groups staring at each other across a kind of no-man's land of a width of about six paces. Each of the Volkendians had a weapon of some sort close to paw, and the black-furred squirrels opposite them also had their arms ready at hand. The air around the assembled creatures was tight, as if a pluck of the invisible string would send the whole assembly into chaos. Even the blazing midday sun glinting off the rippling sea seemed to have paused in its course through the sky to see what was about to unfold on the deck of the ship below. The tension around her was so great that Lin felt as if she couldn't breathe. Behind her she could just make out the faintest growl from Slarave, and to her left she thought she heard the clack of sling stones against each other as somebeast – probably Crosow or Shorelad – slipped their paw into their stone pouch. For a moment the squirrelmaid held her breath, wondering what should happen next – or what would happen next.

Abruptly a hedgehog detached himself from the Volkendians and took a pace towards the Foeseekers across the no-man's land. He was not unusually large but was still a big beast, easily standing a head taller than the tallest Foeseeker present. A simple white tunic, covered by a green vest and belted with a thick plait of twine, hung about his solid frame. Dangling from his paw by a thong was a fearsome mace, fashioned from an oaken hornbeam and in which was embedded short iron spikes. At the sight of this formidable instrument of war a murmur went through the ranks of Foeseekers and the rasp of metal against metal as blades were drawn or gripped began to whisper around the deck. The Volkendians instantly shot paws to their belts, gripping at hilts and handles of all kinds of weapons. Eyes and teeth flashed as both groups tensed for battle and then instinctively paused to look towards their leaders.

The hedgehog didn't move from his place at the edge of the gap between the two groups. His dark eyes flickered over the black-furred squirrels opposite him, clearly looking for some creature or thing. The piercing gaze finally came to rest on the small group who stood slightly apart from the rest of the opposing force, watching him with the same intensity. He twitched the thong around his wrist, as if to show he knew how to use the attached weapon. "Where's yer leader?" he demanded, a strange accent twisting his words in a manner foreign to all but one creature in the Foeseeker ranks.

Lin evaded the restraining paw of Captain Nauctus and stepped towards the hedgehog. She could feel – almost hear – scores of eyes turning to stare at her from both sides of the gap. It was an overwhelming sensation, and it took the squirrelmaid a moment to collect herself enough to reply to the hedgehog in the same firm, gliding accent. "Ah'm th' leader 'round 'ere. What be th' reason ye 'ave such a display o' force when we mean no 'arm ta ye? We are travelin' warriors 'oo come en peace ta yer island."

The big hedgehog twitched his dangling mace again, staring at the squirrelmaid with a stony face but eyes that glinted with puzzlement and curiosity. "Ye speak as if ye know th' manner o' speech o' Volkendo, but ye come from th' nor'east. We 'ave ne'er 'ad anybeast o' peaceful intent approach our island from any direction except th' south. 'Ow do ye come ta know our way o' speakin'?"

Lin made a vague gesture with her paw. "I was born – as 'twas me father an' 'is father – on Tarenta. 'Tis a long tale about 'ow I came ta be comin' ta yer island from th' nor'east, but 'tis th' truth, unfortunate as it may be."

Surprised murmurs began to ripple through the Volkendians, but the hedgehog's face never changed. "many a corsair 'as twisted th' word 'truth' ta serve their own dark purposes. 'Ow do I know what ye say is true?"

The black squirrelmaid met his level stare with the same intense look as she addressed him by his name. "Me father was Vura Hon, Takora Greatclub. I'm Lindenton Tarenta, 'is eldest an' only survivin' daughter."

"What?!" The thick brows of the hedgehog seemed to be in danger of brushing his headquills as they shot upwards with surprise. "Lin . . . 'ow did ye get 'ere? Where's yer father? Why 'aven't any o' yer clan come 'ere since last spring?" He paused, her words sinking in. "What do you mean by ''is only surviving daughter'? 'As somethin' 'appened ta Yraina?" The scowl deepened as his eyes swept over the assembled creatures behind the squirrelmaid. "Why do ye 'ave red-furred squirrels an' 'ares in yer crew? An' wot 'appened ta those beasts o' ours 'oo sailed ta yer island last spring an' summer?"

"You sent creatures to Tarenta?" Lin asked, lowing her voice unintentionally into a growl and slipping back into her usual manner of speech as she recalled what had happened to her own people that fateful day five seasons ago. "Either killed or enslaved, which – or to what extent of both – I don't know."

Growls of anger rose from the Volkendians and even a few of the Foeseekers. The hedgehog, Takora Greatclub, gripped his mace. "What d'ye mean?"

"A corsair, Groomyer, attacked us just after the spring thaw. He took over everything – the town, the shipyard, the harbor – the whole island. Jome and some of the other squirrels escaped, although I don't know if they've been captured or – or killed, or if they're still free, but –" She paused to get control of her voice, which she feared was going to shake. "– But they killed Yraina and Mother and Dad." She had meant to say "Mittreya and Vura Hon," but it had felt so natural to call her parents by the names she knew them as that it had just slipped out.

Takora seemed to understand that there was a much larger tale behind this simple explanation, a tale that would take some time in telling. He held out his right paw, palm upward. "Me creatures an' me'll escort ye an' yer companions, with yer ships, t' our nearest coastal village. Yer company can rest there while I call a Council o' Chiefs. We c'n confer with th' other six about wot needs discussion."

Lin placed her own right paw on his, her palm facing downward. "Agreed."

††

The nearest costal village turned out to be Volkendo's main port, a bustling little town which had been dubbed "Sweethaven" due to an ancient fable of a shipload of mice who had landed there to find a pile of delicious but drugged fruit on the shoreline. Like all the places on Volkendo, the town was proud of the local history – or legend – that had, according to popular belief, taken place on its soil, and the scenes of the tale could be seen everywhere. Blankets displayed clever weaving of ships riding the waves of the sea. Signposts showed the titles of streets bearing the names of characters involved in the legend. Even the pottery jars used in so many different ways about the town were painted with scenes from the fable.

Sweethaven was an organized place, as were all communities on Volkendo. Around the wharves of the harbor there was a wide open space to allow for creatures and goods to pass about freely. Set back from this open swathe were large stone storehouses, most used to hold grain or bulky goods of similar likeness. Behind these ran the broad, sandy lanes that crisscrossed through the residential center of the town. Two particularly wide lanes intersected in the middle of the town square. One lane, affectionately known as Cavernpath, ran from the harbor towards the inland. Winding its way perpendicular to that lane was Scout's Crossing. Along both of these avenues stood any number of little shops, selling everything from beeswax and thread to saws and chisels. All about them stood woodlanders of every possible kind, hawking their wares, bartering, selling, or even just strolling along, studying the different goods available.

As Lin and her group followed Takora down the main street of the town to the large open place where all the roads and paths of the community joined, Tam stared about in amazement. "By the stones o' Redwall! Even the abbey doesn't have such a – a – vibrant look as this place!"

Lin smiled. "Aye, as proud as Redwallers are of the abbey's history, Volkendians keep their past alive in every part of their culture. Look there." She pointed to a large stone building with an imposing-looking double oaken door and the sign "Trade Guild" painted on a weathered board in gold lettering just outside the door. "See the gate in that iron fence around it?"

Shorelad, who was with them, answered. "It looks like a bloomin' ship wrought out of iron."

Lin nodded, her black eyes flashing as she remembered the days when her father would walk through that gate to lay on the desk of a Guild member the list of goods he had brought to trade with the Volkendian merchants. "Aye. And see, beside it? Those are the two mice who are believed to have remained on the ship while their companions went ashore and who later rescued them. Almost all the artwork and decoration in Sweethaven shows something involving the legend."

Tam was interested. "That sounds very much like the story o' Luke the Warrior. He an' his crew o' mice – with a hare – were followin' his sworn enemy, an' they put in to an island harbor much like this one to restock on supplies. Luke an' Vurg, one o' his friends, stayed on the ship fer one reason or another, an' the others found a pile o' fresh fruit on the beach. They ate it, but it 'twas drugged an' they were captured by a band o' vermin. Luke an' Vurg ended up getting' 'em away an' trappin' the vermin in their cave."

"I didn't know ye were such o' scholar!" Doogy chortled.

Tam flicked his bushy tail at his friend. "An' I'm not, but when ye 'ave an abbey recorder fer a daughter ye tend to pick things up!"

"Yer tale sounds much like ours," Takora said with an interested tilt of his chin. "May'aps they were one an' th' same."

"An' it sounds a lot like our story of Luke," Oakfur chipped in. "The survivors of the shipwreck of the _Goreleech_ knew the tale well from Vurg, Denno, Beau, and Dulam, who all witnessed the incident."

Takora looked intrigued. "This is a chance that our 'istorians would give their whiskers an' teeth ta take a'vantage o'. If either one, or both, o' ye –" He said this with a look at both Oakfur and Tam – "'ave time in th' near future, I'm sure that they'd be more'n 'appy ta 'ear yer tale o' these mouse warriors."

Tam nodded in assent, but Oakfur lowered his head, blushing. "Not me, I only know a bit o' the story. You'd want to talk to Haric or Verzanthil; they're both, well, scholars by our standards."

"Ye mean by th' standards o' yer tribe?" Takora asked, his dark eyes glittering.

"Aye. I don't know if'n they're up to what you and your – um – creatures would call scholars, but they're well versed in the history of the Foeseeker tribe and the legends and stories connected with it." The young squirrel's tailbrush was curling with embarrassment and Lin couldn't resist a slight smile.

"He won't bite, Oakfur. He's just a hedgehog like any of the others!"

Oakfur turned scarlet under his fur. "But he's a chief!"

"Chief, aye, but a chief because me people wanted me ta be so." Takora sounded surprisingly stern. "Ev'ry chief on Volkendo is made chief by th' vote o' 'is circle an' 'as a reign – if'n ye can call it that – o' eight seasons. I currently am in me sixth season o' me second term o' leadership. When me tenth season as chief 'as ended, me circle'll either choose a new chief or elect me ta serve fer another ten seasons."

"Beggin' your pardon, sah, but what's a bally circle, wot?" Shorelad couldn't resist the question, although the query was stamped also on the faces of Doogy, Tam, and Oakfur.

Takora bowed slightly, a custom of the Volkendians when they erred in their discourse. "Pardon; I fergot that ye're not familiar with our ways. A circle is merely those creatures that a chief leads. I'm th' chief o' th' circle o' hedgehogs. Me good friend, Urjo, is chief o' th' circle o' shrews; our two circles're th' two largest on Volkendo. There're five other chiefs asides we two. Th' next biggest circles're th' otters an' th' circle o' th' combined voles an' mice, followed by th' circle o' moles. 'Ares an' rabbits make up another circle, an' th' last circle is all th' other creatures who dwell 'ere, mostly squirrels an' sparrows but with others among 'em."

"Ye must h'ave many ways o' livin' among ye if'n ye 'ave so many different creatures all dwellin' so close together," Doogy commented.

"Not in the least!" Takora exclaimed indignantly. "We're one people – th' Volkendians – an' we live as such. Our culture, our way o' life is one an' th' same anywhere on our island." He swept his paw in a wide arc. "Look around ye. These creatures live in harmony t'gether. We couldn't survive otherwise."

"How many creatures live on Volkendo?" Oakfur asked, plucking up courage.

Takora grinned at him. "Ye've asked a tricky 'un there, young 'un. Hm . . . in our last count – almost twenny seasons ago now – we 'ad about a thousand eight 'undred."

He gave Lin a puzzled glance as the others exclaimed in astonishment. "Why're they surprised? I know yer kinsfolk lived in smaller numbers'n us, but don't most creatures take pride'n large numbers?"

Lin shook her head slowly. "No, it's not that. I – I think they're surprised because most creatures with numbers that large have many warriors among them and sometimes go to war with other creatures to gain land. At least, where they come from."

Takora looked about at the nodding heads. "Ah, 'n th' land where ye come from is a place o' lots o' war, 'tisn't it?"

"Aye," Tam confirmed wryly. "Doogy an' me grew up on battle trainin' an' the way o' warriors. 'Tis – 'tis how a beast survives, especially in the Northlands. But 'ow's Volkendo – er – avoided attack by corsairs with numbers like that?"

"Volkendo 'tisn't a land burdened by war," the big hedgehog explained. "We've 'ad a few run-ins with corsairs in past times; that's why we do 'ave warriors among us, 'nough t' keep us safe. But from those encounters corsairs 'ave learned t' leave us alone – an' why'd they 'ave any reason t' attack us? We're a land o' little forest an' wide fields, with only our mountain fer buildin' materials. Not many corsairs'd attack a place with no timber fer th' repair o' ships an' warriors enough to prevent slavin' raids." He winked at Lin. "But we live without our own timber nicely, fer we 'ave allies t' trade it t' us whenever we 'ave need." His eyes darkened. "Or at least, we _'ad_ allies."

Lin stiffened. "You mentioned earlier that you sent some of your creatures to Tarenta last spring and summer. What did you mean? What happened?"

Takora clenched his paw tightly. "They ne'er came back. Five ships left our 'arbors an' were gone thirty days afore we finally stopped sendin' creatures o'er. Th' last two were filled with many o' our warriors; we knew somethin' was wrong, 'else th' other three ships'd o' returned. But those two didn't come back, either."

The black squirrelmaid gripped her axe. "A corsair – a fox, Groomyer – invaded just after the last snows melted. He took over everything, killed – killed everyone in my family except Jome, and – and enslaved the rest. Jome and some others escaped, but . . ."

"But ye don't know if'n they're still free?" Takora spoke softly, but there was pulsing rage beneath his words. "Th' Council'll do all we can, an' I think ye'll find a few allies among 'em. Ne'er fear, we'll 'elp ye, even if 'tis only me creatures who go with ye."

They had been moving down the wide, sandy breadth of Cavernpath, the main road leading away from the harbor into the little town. Now, as they reached the wide town square at the intersection of Cavernpath and Scout's Crossing, Takora turned to the right and headed strait toward a large stone building. It was plainly but tastefully decorated with stunningly wrought metal trimmings. Even the hinges and handle of the door were worked into delicate swirls that spread over a large section of the solid oaken door.

As they ascended the pair of stone stairs that led up to the entry, Doogy ran his paw over the finely wrought railing. "By the left! Takora, d'ye an' yer creatures come frae the Northlands? This looks more than a whit like the manner o' ironwork I've seen en many a northern village!"

Takora shrugged as he swung the door open and stepped into the cool interior of the building entry. "None o' us really know. We're all descendents o' beasts 'oo 'ave survived shipwrecks on th' shores o' this island an' th' reefs 'round it. May'aps some Northland smith was among some o' th' creatures washed up 'ere, but if'n so it ne'er survived t' be told t' later generations. Volkendo is a wild mix o' different cultures, styles, an' ways o' livin'. We could 'ave somethin' from ev'ry nation an' civilization on earth, fer all I know." He twitched the mace, which was still dangling from the thong round his paw. "But come on in. No need fer ye lot t' stand there like gossiping mousewives!"

* * *

_Yeah, yeah, go on and eat me. I. Don't. Care. I've got a life, and even if I want to be an author I do have to worry about school, and papers, and projects, and stuff I'm in charge of, and activities, and family, yada yada yada. I could go on. But I won't. Just don't complain about the late update._

_Somewhat random title, don't you think?_

_Most of this was an EXTREME filler chapter to make a smooth transition from the last chapter to the next, but I put in a whole lot of Volkendian culture that's going to be important later. The chiefs part, especially, for obvious reasons. There was also a lot of side info, particularly on the Volkendians' delight in shaping the names, décor, etc. of a town around a legend, actual event, or other important happening that took place in that area/on location. The example I have here is Sweethaven, where Luke on the _Sayna_ landed and the whole thing with the drugged fruit took place (see BJ's Legend of Luke). On a personal note, this was the first dialog-centric chapter I've ever done, and I think it came of nicely, but that's just me._

_**Note:**__ the Melanda tangent of this story is being discontinued. See below for details._

_**IMPORTANT NOTICE: WHEN I EDIT THIS STORY AFTER I'VE FINISHED IT, IT'S GOING TO BE TOTALLY RE-DONE!**__ By that I mean this: in the beginning of the story, I crammed Lin's whole youth and Tarenta's history into one chapter. I've regretted that ever since, and since I also am going to be removing Gareth as a focus point but will have him towards the end of the story, I've decided to throw in some of his youth up until the attack on Tarenta so I can get more detail on him. This will mean I'll show some small peeks at the Foeseekers during the period of their war with Groomyer and the great sickness he caused them to contract from his own few infected beasts. These three things – Lin's youth and Tartenta's history, Gareth's youth, and a bit of the Foeseekers – will be made into the first book of __Foeseeker__. What I have at the moment and the rest of the story from here to the end will be the other two books. The first one will, however, be mostly an informational book, skipping through a period of about 12 – 14-ish seasons. It will conclude with Groomyer's attack and conquest of Tarenta, and the second book will open with Lin in Redwall's infirmary and will give a few touch-ins on how she got to Redwall from being put on a slave ship on Tarenta (which will be changed). The Melanda part of the story will also be removed, since that whole thing was really to bring in one measly character and I'm going to revise part of the story a tad to bring that character in to save myself a whole pain in the . . . well, fingers._

_So, in short, these are the major changes:_

_1 – the expansion of Lin's youth, Tarenta's history, Gareth's youth, and some looks at the Foeseekers. These will be expanded and put into the first book of the story, which will cover about 12 – 14 seasons and will conclude with Groomyer's attack and conquest of Tarenta and Lin being put on one of his ships as an oarslave._

_2 – the Melanda tangent of the story will be erased._

_3 – a change of how Lin gets from the harbor of Tarenta to the Redwall infirmary._

_4 – the introduction of a character in a different part of the story (not a big change, but one that will have an effect very much later on)._

_So, yeah. But those changes won't take place until after I've finished this story. I'll probably move a lot of the slave-and-bad-guy characters from the Melanda tangent to some diversion chapters focusing mostly on Tarenta in general, both on Gareth and on those squirrels who are still free. (Yes, they're still free. Lin needs to stop being so morose.) I'm not 100% positive on moving these characters, but I like a lot of them too much to give them up – particularly one, and that one's relationship with a few others. That'll be fun to watch the playout of, if I use that character._

_When I finish the final revision of this story, I'll add a whole "chapter" author's note, kinda like what warrior4 did at the end of their story ("__Winter's Flowers__," I think?) with where I got some character names and such, but I'm going to have a lot of different stuff in there – family trees, some detail of various locations and points of interest, etc._

_Wow, that was a long author's note._

_God bless! Thanks for sticking with me._

_I'll try to get around to reading your stories as soon as I can. I'm not as loyal a reader as you guys are._

_Foeseeker_


	44. The Gavel Falls

_43: The Gavel Falls_

"I tell ye, t'would be too dangerous! We've lost more warriors 'n we can afford in flippin' scoutin' missions t' Tarenta already; what if the bloomin' vermin turn an' attack us? Why 'aven't they attacked us already? By me blade an' me word o' honor, none o' me bally beasts're goin' on this 'arebrained mission an' I pray that none o' ye're goin' t' send yer own inter certain death either, wot!"

Adilade sat down amid murmurs of approval from different parts of the room, her eyes scorching over the creatures assembled around her. Lin could feel herself quivering with rage as her own eyes narrowed at the hare chieftain, half wishing she could grab the smooth basalt stone from Adilade's paw and shout out an indignant reply.

They – the seven chiefs, Lin, and a few creatures from each circle – were sitting in the main room of the Anchor, the Council's headquarters. This was located in Sweethaven and was, indeed, the very building to which Takora had brought Lin and her group four days before. The seven chiefs, plus Lin, each sat in a sturdy wooden chair, which had been pulled forward to make a ring. Behind each chief sat five members of their circle, handpicked by the chief to sit in as an advisory board for that chief and to occasionally provide opinions and commentary to the whole Council. The meeting had opened with the presentation of the problem – the recent disaster on Tarenta and Lin's current self-appointed mission – and Takora had pledged his support and as many of his warriors as were willing to go. The floor was now open to any and all chiefs to argue whether or not they too should send fighters. Even though only Adilade had spoken as of yet, Lin could feel a pulsing excitement and fury radiating from the five creatures behind her.

One of these was Tam, for his experience in combat and negotiation was invaluable to her. Shorelad was the most level-headed and straightforward of the three Long Patrol hares in the squirrelmaid's company and was a good speaker when he put his mind to it; these attributes had led him to Lin choosing him to be a member of her faction. Slarave, though she and Lin didn't get along well, was the Foseekers' true leader and was also an excellent fighter, possessing the knowledge of many military tactics. Two other Foeseeker squirrels completed the party. One of these, Jazal, was a keen-eyed beast in his prime with a peg leg and twisted body, the result of an accident seasons ago. He was considered by his tribe to be one of their best militaristic intellectuals and was consulted by many different military personages in the tribe for almost every possible aspect of war. Verzanthil was one of the record-keepers of the Foeseekers and, though she had been a wild warrior in her far-gone youth, she now was held as a scholar by her tribe. Lin had counted her into her little group with the idea that the wisdom the silvered squirrel held might be of use in trying to persuade the chiefs to join with her in her cause, but there had been no chance or reason for consultation as of yet. The actual Council had begun with the terse but scorching tirade of Adilade.

A little shrew, who was acting as a kind of courier about the circle, silently took the basalt stone from the hare chief's paw and passed it to Ruglar, the chief and Skipper of otters, who had signaled to speak following Adilade's harangue. The strong young otter's fiery orange tunic swayed as he sprang up as if accentuating the scorching look in his eyes.

"Fer generations the Tarentians've helped us survive! They've given us wood fer ships an' furnishins' – aye, the very chair ye're sittin' on, marm –" He motioned to Adilade's handsomely carved hickory chair – "given us herbs an' woodland crops, an' even been willin' t' share their labor with us t' help us if'n we needed it. Are we such cowards as t' turn our back on our allies when the spilt blood o' their kin is cryin' out t' be avenged? Fie on ye! I know not what course ye others may take, but as fer me an' me otters, we'll give 'em liberty 'r take death in the attempt!"

Ruglar sat down to a smattering of applause. Lin signaled for the stone in the traditional way; raising her right paw perpendicular to the floor with her palm facing into the circle. The little shrew scuttled across the circle and handed her the stone, and the squirrelmaid rose to her paws and turned to face Ruglar. As she spoke she almost unconsciously used a very mild version of the Volkendian accent, but nobeast seemed to notice or care. "Thankee for those words, my friend. But ye made one mistake; I am not fighting fer revenge but fer the freedom o' those o' my kin whom I believe t' be still alive, an' t' assist those who are still free. This is a war fer liberty, not fer memory, an' I believe Tarenta can be a great nation again. But I only have about three or four hundred warriors at my command, an' my enemy has at least twice that number plus half; possibly more." She scanned the circle of faces. "I need help. Tarenta has helped ye in the past; why can't ye help us now?"

The paw of Mingo, the chief of the mice and voles, rose. The little shrew delivered the stone to him, and the plump mouse commenced his discourse without bothering to stand. His voice was slightly squeaky and he had a way of drawling out his words that made Lin think of a sleepy beast who'd had too much to eat.

"Why risk our lives fer a bunch o' creatures who might not even be alive as we speak when so many o' our own've already been lost? An' there's another thing; the summer harvest is at its peak. We're all needed here t' take care o' bringin' in th' crops, an' the autumn harvest'll be here afore long. How long'd this mission take? One week, three, a season? Mayhaps more? We'd all be needed back afore then. Ye, Ruglar; yer otters'll be needed fer the fishin' an' ship repair. Takora, yer beasts have the largest numbers o' all the circles on our island, an' many 're farmers. Wot'll happen if'n they leave their crops t' rot in the fields?" He waved a paw at Lin. "I've seen yer squirrel friends ye've brought here, aye, an' ye've fetched three o' 'em with ye today. They all look like tough, strong fighters – or, if'n they've passed that because o' the cycle o' seasons, once were. Why not set 'em against yer Groomyer corsair? They'd probably win, an' if'n not, any survivors could come an' live 'ere."

Even Adilade and her creatures looked shocked at this outright callousness. Ruglar, Lin, Takora, and Urjo – this last being the shrew chieftain and Log-a-log – all leapt to their paws, shouting angrily at Mingo as others in the room also began yelling with fury at the mouse's openly shameless disregard for the freedom of his creatures' allies. Mingo himself toyed uneasily with the sleeves of his vermillion robe, attempting to feign unconcern. The clamor rapidly rose in volume and it appeared that the Council might dissolve into chaos when there was a thunderous crash and everybeast turned to stare in the direction from whence the sound had come.

Grundee, chief and Foremole of the circle of moles, hung the decorative copper shield he had just struck with his heavy digging claws back on its bracket. "Thurt's bettur, Oi can 'ear moiself naow." His simple white tunic with the brown vest seemed to add to his stout stature, but somehow that stature looked imposing beneath the many lines of good humor that creased the old beast's face as he turned back to stand calmly by his seat. "Will youm goodbeasts sit daown, now thurt we're acturn loike senserble beasts again?"

Somewhat sheepishly those who had leapt to their feet in the heat of the argument resumed their seats. Grundee, still standing, lifted his hefty right paw perpendicular to the floor. The little shrew, who had slipped the stone from Mingo's paw at the beginning of the argument, crept nervously across the circle and pressed the chunk of basalt into Grundee's paw.

The foremole took it with a smile for the timid shrew. "Thankee, young 'un. Naow, moi frunds, lurt's not get sturted arguin' again; 'twill only bring on the rain. If'n it pleases ye, Oi'll speak moi piece."

A murmur went around the room. Takora dipped his head. "With pleasure. Please continue."

"Thankee. As we wur saying, Miz Lin an' 'er family is in a gurt 'eap o' trouble. 'Er folk 'ave 'elped us'ns out o' trouble afore; do any o' youm runmember when Springdale burnt daown?"

A few older beasts nodded their heads in affirmation, and a number of the younger ones murmured snatches about how they had been told the story. The old mole gripped the stone tightly, enclosing it in his digging claws. "It burnt daown in the middle o' the night, an' it's dwellurs barely got out with'n thur lives. An' thurn the Turentiurns gave us'ns timbur fer buildin' an' even came ovur an' 'elped thurselves. Boi okey, they didn't jurst 'elp with the 'ouses, eithur; they 'elped us'ns make new furniture an' thatch the rooves an' clean away the debris." He waved the paw that was clutching the stone. "Oi says thurt we 'elp thur Turentiurns clean urp thur 'ome, rebuild thur 'ouses. Jurst loike they did fer us'ns."

He sat down amid applause and a few cheers. Those who had deciphered his thick accent began to discuss his words in whispers. Lin twisted around in her chair, hissing to her five companions, "What d'ye think so far?"

Slarave curled her lip. "A bunch of bickering ninnies, if'n ye ask me."

"Aye, that blinkin' Mingo, he's the bally limit!" Shorelad snarled under his breath. "Just let me get my paws on 'im and I'll –"

"Steady, Shorelad," Tam muttered. "A hot mouth'll land ye in a hot mess. Ye're doin' fine, Lin; I think we're mostly out o' it now, these beasts'll have to make their own decisions."

"But we can chip in our piece where it's needed!" the squirrelmaid replied heatedly.

"I think ye've done 'most all ye' can." The raspy voice of Verzanthil reached Lin's ears over the swelling buzz of voices around them. "Aye, 'tis comin' slowly, but I think there're more n' just 'ot-'eads in that bunch. That Foremole Grundee, now there's an 'ead on wise shoulders." The ancient squirrel closed her eyes, twitching her tail in Lin's direction. "Ye've already got a pack o' otters an' a sackfull o' 'eadge'ogs; that should be enough fer what ye'll need to do."

"And what's that?"

Jazal answered the squirrelmaid's irritated question. "Ye said all yore vermin types're on a peninsula with their ships in the 'arbor. Well, ye've got otters with ye; they swim out an' cut the ships loose; not sure what you'd do with 'em, but get 'em out o' the vermin's reach. Then ye charge the villains, you an' the 'ogs from the shore an' the otters from the water on either side o' ye. They'd be trapped like wine in a bottle. 'Sides, they couldn't all come at ye at once."

Lin chewed her lip reflectively. "Hmm . . . I think I see your drift. Aye, that just might work." Her black eyes flashed dangerously. "But numbers can still help, 'cause they can cut us down and keep piling on the ranks. We can't."

"Then make sure they can't cut us down," Slarave countered.

Lin glared at her, but before she could answer Ruglar thwacked his sturdy rudder against the floor for silence. "Belay the gab, mates, ye've had enough time for natterin'. Now all o' ye, stow yer hunkers in yer berths an' wait the next speaker." He shot a glare in the direction of a pair of hedgehogs behind Takora who hadn't stopped their whispered conversation. "I said stow it!"

Silence fell and Adilade motioned for the stone. As she rose her knee-length sand-colored dress made the tiniest swish over the edge of the chair, falling away from the tight brown belt and rapier at her waist to its full length. She didn't change her position, merely turned her head to look strait at Grundee. "An' wot, sirrah, are ye goin' t' do about allowin' yer beasts t' go on this – ahem – darin' mission?"

"Oi says thurt moi molers will 'ave permishun to go with Miz Lin if'n they wants to," Grundee replied calmly. "Oi moiself won't go – burr, aye, thurt's not going tur be a place fer old 'uns! No zurr! – but Oi knows thurt ev'ry moler wants tur do wot's roit, an' if'n moi molers think thurt they should go, woi, by moi granfer's tunnel, they should be able tur go!"

Amid the ensuing ovation following Grundee's verdict, Urjo, the chief and Log-a-log of the shrews, rose almost reluctantly to his feet. "I 'ates t' say this, but I'm goin' t' deny me creatures permission t' go. 'Tis not that I don't feel fer yer cause, Lin –" He made a slight bow in the squirrelmaid's direction – "but 'tis Volkendo I'm worried about. There's no reason the vermin can't board their ships if'n ye defeat 'em an' sail 'em over 'ere while most o' our warriors're with ye on Tarenta. Ye're already goin' t' have Ruglar's otters, a big bit o' Takora's hogs, an' prob'ly some o' Grundee's moles, an' th' Foeseekers. That'll at least come pretty close t' Groomyer's numbers. But Adilade's 'ares and rabbits an' the members o' Mingo's circle won't be enough t' stop a horde from takin' Volkendo over. Me creatures're good boatbeasts an' we know the water well. We'll be needed 'ere t' help with the ships an' fishin' an' farmin' an' any defense that might be needed."

There was a murmur of agreement around the room. Lin's black eyes flashed. "And you'll make no move to help your comrades who're going into harm's way?"

For a warrior, this was a challenge difficult to face. Urjo chewed his lip for several long moments, during which there was not a sound from the assembled creatures. Finally the Log-a-log turned around and began a hasty whispered conference with his five companions.

Finally he straitened up and faced his audience, a queer – almost amused – look on his face. "Tell ye what; we'll send Unglak with ye. He's a gull we found as a chick; harmless beast, somewhat lame in one leg; that's why he 'angs out with the shrews instead o' the other birds – an' the fish, o' course; he loves the taste o' fish. He's useless at fighting – couldn't kill a shrimp if'n 'e tried – but he's a messenger bird who'll go further 'n any sparrow, an' 'e can fly over water since he can rest on it." He pawed at his rapier, apparently excited about the idea. "If'n ye lose, win, or need t' send a message here, send him. He can't talk – at least, 'e's never spoken a word – but wrap a parchment in leaves an' have 'im tuck it into 'is feathers; it'll stay safe. He'll probably make it in three 'r four days, since 'e can fly faster 'n a ship. If'n ye win, tell us. If'n ye lose an' ye need help, send a message an' we'll be there as fast as we can. If'n other word is needed, well, ye have the possibility o' contact." The shrew, somewhat breathless, sat down to a flattering murmur of sanction.

Lin nodded her thanks and consent to the shrew, gripping the arm of her chair. _With the Foeseekers, Ruglar's otters, and maybe a third of the hedgehogs and moles, that's . . . close to Groomyer's numbers. No, it's at least five hundred short . . ._ She remembered with a wince the countless scores of vermin at the warlord's command. _But maybe there'll be some Tarentians still alive . . . and then there're the slaves . . ._

"Viski, 'ave ye anythin' t' say?"

Lin jumped, roused out of her musings by Takora's deep voice. _Viski . . . who's that?_

A form stirred on the farthest chair. Lin stared. She'd almost forgotten about the seventh chief, the chief who led the circle of those creatures too few in number to make an individual circle of their own kind. This chief had been so quiet during the entire meeting – indeed, hadn't spoken a word – that the squirrelmaid had subconsciously begun to wonder if she had drifted off.

But this was not a creature with the mists of sleep clouding her eyes. No, the tiny, wizened sparrow who was perched on the chair seemed to pulse with sheer intensity and life. Her bright black eyes were taking in the entire Council, betraying nothing going through her shrewd mind. She was old – so old as to be ancient. Yet she commanded silence and respect from all gathered there as she straitened herself and pronounced her verdict, speaking slowly as if unhurried by need or desire.

"Many Tarentians I've known, even dis 'un's father." She motioned to Lin with the tip of a silvered wing. "Good they've all been, willing to always 'elp. Many things they've given us, an' as friends they did welcome us. Yet as friends d' we welcome 'em? Wot wormfriends take 'way the other's chance of freedom? Freedom to live wiout a whip 'bout their ears? Those that 'ave felt the whip're 'mong me circle, aye, an' thirst do they to return it. I don't say go'll all me warriors. But I know that to join ye'll many want." She looked strait at Lin, and the squirrelmaid suddenly felt like fire was trying to bore its way into her. That black gaze was almost hypnotizing. "Join ye, too'll many of me sparrows. Swift messengers're they, an' though they can't fight as well as some, useful're they for getting 'fermation from one place to 'nother." She paused, then added in an almost humored tone, "I know others who'll join ye. Vermin-worms ye may call them –" One or two shocked gasps echoed behind Lin, then almost as quickly subsided – "But serve you well'll they, an' honest an' loyal'll they be. Looks don't count for everything. Wo' matters more is heart."

Lin thought of Gareth, swallowed, and nodded. The black gaze held hers for a moment, then looked away, and suddenly she could breathe again.

††

"So how many d'ye think we'll have?"

Tam was scratching away on a piece of parchment in the large stern chamber aboard the _Dawn Queen_. The ship was anchored in the Volkendian harbor, rocking gently on the tide. Most of the Foeseekers were in the town, getting acquainted with the Volkendians, bartering for goods, or simply sightseeing, the result being an unusually quiet ship. Lin was standing at the little window in the port wall, her back to her Redwallian friend. The elder warrior studied the figures he had haphazardly scrawled on the parchment, waiting for Lin to answer his question. When she didn't speak, he turned and stared at her motionless figure. "We've got three hundred an' some Foeseeker warriors with us. How many of the Volkendians d'ye think'll join us?"

Lin didn't turn around, answering the questions in a rapid-fire deliverance of one who has thought through the matter in question beforehand. "A hundred and fifty otters, two hundred hedgehogs – well, that might be stretching it a bit – twoscore moles, a score of sparrows, and about twoscore of mixed creatures. Of course, we won't know exactly for another week at least, since the messengers have to get around the island and spread the word, and they only just started out this afternoon when the Council ended." She sounded distant, almost listless, as if the figures and the thought of the swelling army were of little interest to her. Tam frowned and went back to his figuring, trying to make his tone light in the hope of stirring some spark in his black-furred friend.

"That makes . . ." He began muttering figures under his breath, the quill pen scratching furiously. "That makes around seven 'undred an' fifty fightin' beasts, give or take a score. Countin' the slaves an' the free Tarentians that'll be –"

"How do we know they're alive?" Lin growled. "How do we know we'll even be able to reach the island – alive and free?" Her tone softened as if she was about to cry. "Seven hundred and fifty warriors . . . creatures who are following my call for aid. What if – what if we lose? They'll be killed, enslaved . . . and many – most – have families. I – I can't do this!" The Redwall Champion could see the paw of his young friend gripping the axe at her side, the knuckles white beneath the fur. "I can't lead these creatures to their deaths!"

"Lin." Tam rose from the stool on which he had been perched, moving over to stand behind the squirrelmaid and place a paw on her shoulder. "Lin. Look at me."

"No." Lin really did sound like she was going to cry now. Tam's heart went out to her – a young maid all alone not yet having even passed her twentieth season leading an army into who knows what amount of danger. He gritted his teeth, forcing his sympathy back down his own throat. It would only hurt her if he told her what he was feeling; hurt her chance of becoming the warrior and leader he could see pent up inside her, trapped by her inexperience, frustration, fear of what might happen, and fear of herself.

"Lin, look at me." The tall red-furred warrior sternly pulled the squirrelmaid around, remembering with a start the times he'd done this to his own daughter. For a moment he recalled the question he'd given so long ago – or was it so long? – to the maid in front of him, that night on the walltop, that night when the seeds of this quest had been planted, that night of fates being forged: _"Lin, will ye be our adopted daughter?"_

Finding the black eyes of the squirrelmaid reluctantly meeting his, the border warrior took a deep breath, wondering how to say what he was thinking. "Lin, none o' these creatures would be followin' ye if'n they thought ye couldn't win. What fool would leave the safety o' his home an' family to follow some wild young squirrelmaid on a path to get herself an' her followers cut t' bits?"

Lin stared unblinkingly back at him, her black eyes hard past a glassy film of angry unshed tears, choking on her words for a moment; then they came spilling out in a bitter, frustrated tirade. "Aye, I am a wild young squirrelmaid, and maybe I'm a fool, too. A fool for starting this addle-brained quest that's snarled up scores of innocent creatures into a massive death trap!" She broke her gaze with her older friend, bringing her clenched paw down on the table with a crash and causing the inkwell on it to jump crazily. Tam could feel her wrath flowing out with her words, but neither seemed to be aimed at him; indeed, she seemed to have almost forgotten his existence. "I'm supposed to be leading these creatures, leading them to victory. What if I fail? What if we're all crushed like ants beneath a boulder? I'm no warrior, nor a leader; I've never been either and I don't want to be either! Never! I was raised with peace, as were all the generations before me; I can live like that again! I will! I'll never lead anyone, anyhow, anywhere, any place! Never!" She seemed about to grab the inkwell and hurl it out the window in a burst of temper but caught herself just in time and struck the table again instead, face dark with frustration and rage. Tam took a few steps back, shocked by the passionate words of his friend – but even more so by the blazing light in the squirrelmaid's eyes, a red coal glowing from the passion scorching through her.

The next moment Lin slumped into a chair, exhausted from her outburst and the unleashing of her passions. She held her head with her paws, rocking back and forth. "Oh, Tam, I never meant all that. I – I mean, I did, but I . . . I . . ."

"Ye don't want to lead warriors an' raise steel with them but live quietly in peace?" Tam formed her tirade into one simple sentence. The squirrelmaid sucked in a breath, slowly.

"Yes. I've been born and bred a farmer and merchant, Tam." She held out a paw, staring at it as if trying to read the secrets of her own self written there. "But when I'm angry . . . fighting angry . . . oooh, my blood is fire and all I can taste and smell is metal and it's like I'm listening to the sea in a midsummer gale . . ."

"That is the blood of warriors in ye. Lin, your birth doesn't change who ye are. Ye're a warrior, one o' the best I'll ever hope to see."

"But I don't want it!" Lin clenched her outstretched paw into a white-knuckled fist. "I don't want it!"

"Can ye help that?" Tam asked dryly. "Can ye drain every drop of your warrior blood from your veins and refill yourself with that of a farmer?" He placed a strong paw on Lin's shoulder. "We're cursed with the lot of a warrior, Lin, ye an' I an' Doogy – the Foeseekers, too. Our blood runs hot, like liquid fire." He gripped the shoulder under his paw tightly. "The fire in yer blood has lit the path ye walk on now, a path that is widening every hour as more with flames in their eyes join ye an' your cause. Ye're the torch that leads the way. Yer flames heat the embers in others like ye, igniting them to flame."

Lin was staring strait ahead, as if picturing this in her mind's eye. Tam watched her. Yes, he could almost see the sight painted in her eyes. A path of fire, burning with all the intensity and ferocity buried beneath that part of her that had been brought forward and nurtured during her youth in her peaceful homeland. Behind her strode Tam himself, and Doogy, the three hares, Oakfur, Slarave, the Foeseekers. Joining them every moment, each in his own way spreading the flames further abroad, were other creatures; otters, hedgehogs, sparrows, moles, a few unfamiliar squirrels, a rabbit. And out front, ahead of them all, was Lin, carrying in her paws a blazing torch, alone at the head of the great throng.

Alone . . . all alone . . .

"It's so lonely," Lin whispered. Tam was snapped out of his reverie by her softy spoken words.

"What's lonely?"

"Being a warrior . . . and a leader . . ." She swallowed, blinking hard, and suddenly put her head down on her folded arms and began to sob. Not a sound escaped her lips except her short, rasping gasps, but her shoulders shook violently and a stray beam of light from the window caught a glistening drop on the smooth wood of the table.

Tam, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with this sudden turn of events, shuffled his footpaws awkwardly, crossing his arms behind his back and clearing his throat. "Lin . . er . . ."

"It's no use," the black squirrelmaid choked. "I can't lead. I can't go on alone for the rest of my life, cut off from everybeast else. I want to be like everybeast else, lead a normal life . . . I can't do that here, now . . . I'm . . . I'm trapped by this leadership . . ." She lifted her face to meet Tam's gaze, eyes still filled with unshed tears. "Tam, what should I do? I can't do this – I just can't . . ."

"Now look here," Tam said gruffly, pulling a rarely-used handkerchief out of his tunic and handing it to her. "Look here. Your dad was a leader; was he lonely?"

Lin set her jaw, irritated by the question. "No; he had Mother and Jome and Yraina and me. But he led peaceful creatures, not warriors!"

Tam shrugged. "What difference does that make? A warrior must be a peaceful creature in times of peace, 'else they'll be a bloodthirsty fighter. Lin, ye'll be fine. An' if ye simply can't stand it, ye can come back to Redwall with Doogy an' me."

Lin scowled, mulling this over. "But won't that be running away from responsibility?"

The Redwall warrior took a breath. One wrong word would touch her off again. "Well, aye – but that doesn't mean ye'll run away from it without preparation on both sides; that can hardly count as runnin' away, can it? There's always somebeast ready to accept a burden; if'n ye do leave, ye can choose a creature to be yer successor."

Lin chewed her lip. "I suppose . . . Oh, this is all such a mess. And it's all because I'm – I'm scared of what might happen."

Tam saw the tears beginning to come again. He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "Don't worry about the future, but what ye can do to make sure what ye want to happen will happen."

"Like getting my army fit?" The squirrelmaid was catching his drift.

"Aye. 'Twill do ye an' yer creatures a power of good if'n ye mingle with them a wee bit. Get to know some of 'em better, teach 'em an' learn from 'em. Ye'll feel like one of 'em, an' they'll feel like they're not bein' neglected by their leader."

* * *

_In this chapter I threw in a famous quote with a few minor modifications of my own, although it's recognizable. If you think you've found it message me the line and if you're right I'll send you whatever spoiler you ask for. (MTW, you may not. C-: Anyway, you already know the outcome of the story.)_

_Meh, not sure what to think of this chapter. The first part was necessary but REALLY difficult; I've never done that much dialogue before – plus those accents O_o. The second part . . . please tell me what you think of it. I intended for it to be short and only included it to add a short snippet about the Volkendians, but it just kept going. I kinda liked the exposed other side of Lin myself (as you can see she's still not completely secure in her leadership), but I don't know exactly how the whole thing fit in . . . please review and tell me what you thought of it._

_If you want to know why this is . . . five months late? – ask me. You'll regret it; I already have a whole list of excuses ready. Oh yes, I plan to try and finish this before the end of August. I think I'll do it, but I'm not sure._

_Review, please! C-:_

_~Foeseeker_

_P.S. If I was reviewing one of your stories before I took that unofficial hiatus over the past few months and you updated it during that time, please message me. I'd like to catch up again._


	45. The Beckoning Hand of Fate

_44: The Beckoning Hand of Fate_

Lin took Tam's advice to heart. Over the next week, as those creatures who wished to join the squirrelmaid in her cause gradually drifted into Sweethaven from all corners of the island, she spent her time among the new recruits and the families of those who lived close by. Each morning, often accompanied by Tam, Slarave, Takora, Ruglar, or another of her close allies, she would do the rounds of the makeshift camp just outside the village, speaking with any and all who desired to do so. Many of those who approached the squirrelmaid wished to ask her questions of her mission; how would it be performed? Would there be any slaves in the vermin stronghold? How would Lin's fleet make its way around the village by sea to land safely without being seen? Would they have allies in the squirrels still free? How long did she think the conflict would last?

Lin found herself answering each question from some point of a brief outline of her plan. Much of the approach to the island would depend heavily upon the sparrows and what information they could glean on scouting forays. The young gull, Unglak, might also be tried as a scout on the advance. Once they landed on the island she believed they would be able to free the slaves and if there were any squirrels or escaped slaves at large on the island they would most certainly join them. Their offensive move would have to be scouted out and planned on the information collected, but she had some rough ideas as to possible attack strategies. She hoped it would all be over in one decisive surprise battle, but if it wasn't she wasn't sure how long the fighting could go on.

As the days passed, the black squirrelmaid's predictions to Tam began to prove astonishingly accurate, even to her. Ruglar assured her that he would have a hundred and sixty-three otters ready for battle by the time the fleet sailed. Hedgehogs came flooding in by the day, and Takora estimated from the reports he'd been receiving from the messengers that a hundred and eighty and some would have arrived in Sweethaven by the army's departure. It was expected, by Foremole Grundee's report, that forty-one moles would be joining Lin, and Viski promised twenty-six sparrows and forty-nine others.

Of these others Lin – and her non-Volkendian friends – were stunned at the number of vermin among them. Rats were extremely common, with a good number of ferrets, weasels, and stoats mixed in among them. There were even three foxes and, two days before the departure, a pine marten arrived in the camp. His name was Zarmon, and though his sly-looking eyes made Lin's flesh crawl, his deep, mellow voice – even in only the few words he spoke – put her at ease. Without asking him anything, she knew this was a creature she could trust and rely upon.

One morning six days after her talk with Tam, Lin finished her rounds of the camp somewhat earlier than she'd expected. Deciding to spend some extra time with the families of those who would be accompanying her – she usually visited them in the afternoons – she headed into the town accompanied by one of the foxes, a vixen called Vittonae. The two kept up a rapid conversation concerning military tactics, for Vittonae was no mean fighter and knew her share of warrior lore. However, as Lin had been warned by the oldest fox, Bannaru, she quickly discovered that the redgold vixen was both impudent and brazen. The pair chafed and humored each other in turns as they made their way into Sweethaven.

They stopped at the house of one of the vixen's friends, a middle-aged ratwife named Gogra. The former corsair was raising three lively youngsters of her own, and her husband, Rapp, was joining Lin on her mission. He was visiting the town forge to have a chip in his blade repaired and Gogra had her paws full trying to cook a plump little grayling and handle the three little ones at the same time. Vittonae promptly rounded up the trio – for all her sauciness she loved babes with a passion – and herded them outside for a game. Lin moved to help Gogra with the cooking.

The ratwife gave her a gap-toothed grin. "Ah, thankee kindly, pretty 'un." She chuckled, her plump stomach shaking. "Me tail! Those li'l rips coul' run der stripes of'n a badger!"

Lin picked up a knife from the table; Gogra had dropped it a moment before as she'd attempted to chase the little ones away from the candied nuts intended for stuffing the fish. She began slicing the onion and carrots set on a plate, also intended for stuffing. "They do seem a pawful. Are you going to get somebeast to help you with them while Rapp's away?"

"Ya, me neighbor, Jakaline – she's an 'edge'og – is gonner 'elp me. Tabot – dat's 'er 'usband – is goin' wid ya, an' since she don't got no little 'uns she'll stop in wid me durin' de day." Gogra dimpled as she began mixing honey and breadcrumbs together in a bowl, together with a bit of flour and some dried herbs. "Jakaline's a goodbeast, dat 'un."

"How did you and Rapp come to Volkendo and settle down here?" Lin asked, adding the chopped vegetables to the bowl at Gogra's request.

"Purdy simple, really. Our ship – _Knifewave_, it were – wrecked on der reefs 'round dis island. We both got washed up 'ere, 'long wid a few slaves an' a couple o' our crewmates. We'd never 'ad a stomach for some o' der stuff most corsairs do, 'though we liked the loot we got an' we 'ad it pretty easy on the 'ole. So when a pack o' otters an' 'ege'ogs shows up, armed ter der teeth, an' us widout any weppings twixt der lot o' us, we surrendered. Dey put us on a trial an' we were allowed ter live in der town in 'ouses they provided, but we was watched. Most o' our mates didn't make der test an' were taken somewheres – not sure where. Rapp an' me an' our messmate, Gritch – 'e's a stoat – passed der test an' were allowed ter settle down." Gogra shrugged. "'Bout der same fer ev'ry vermin dat winds up 'ere."

Lin's curiosity was aroused. "Do you have any idea where the others go?"

Gogra shrugged. "I've picked up bits 'ere an' dere, but nodin' fer sure."

"What do you think, though?" the squirrelmaid pressed.

"Yer a persistent 'un, ain't ya?" Gogra grinned. "Well, I'll tell ya wot I t'ink. When I were still a liddle 'un, I remembers stoppin' at two islands. Dey must 'ave been one round island at one time, but der seasons 'ad worn a channel down der middle an' created two. Any'ow, dere were a bunch o' oder vermin dere, rats an' weasels an' ferrets an' such. I t'ink we took on about a dozen onter der crew, but I'm not sure." She began busily packing the fish with the prepared stuffing. "I t'ink dat's where dey're sent; ter de twin islands."

"How far is it from here to those two islands?" the black squirrelmaid asked curiously.

"Well . . . I'm not 'zactly sure, but from wot I recall, it'd be 'bout three 'r four days sailin', mebbe more. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Just curious," Lin replied blithely, a vague idea forming in her mind. "I'd never thought about where the other vermin went, that's all."

Gogra gave her a sideways look that suggested she thought there was more to the squirrelmaid's probing questions, but if her thoughts ran along such paths she made no further comment. Instead, she and her woodlander friend chatted amiably about one thing and then another as they finished stuffing the fish and made up a small tray of hazelnut buns for the little ones.

Lin was about to inquire into making a cool drink for the noontide, for the summer days on Volkendo were by no means mild, when there was a sudden explosion of loud whooping from outdoors. Both Gogra and Lin went to the door to investigate the sudden outburst of festivities.

Vittonae was sitting in the scant shade cast by the overhang of the roof at the near-noon hour, looking quite frazzled but pleased. The three young ratbabes were having a wonderful time twirling curious devices and hurling them at the stone wall at the rear of the spacious back garden. Each was made of a paw-sized stone tied to an arm's length of sturdy twine. The three youngsters were whirling these much in the same way a slinger would throw a sling, but they released them as if they were bolas. These crude-looking objects whipped through the air for all the world like little comets with string tails to crash into the stone wall twoscore paces away. Despite their youth the trio were astonishingly accurate, striking almost every time the targeted areas they called out.

"Dat dark rock!"

"Der dead vine!"

"I'za gonna 'it der likkle brown bit!"

Lin watched the stones flying through the air with amazement. "What in the name of fur are those things?"

Gogra and Vittonae both chuckled. The vixen explained. "'Tis a modified corsair trick. The real thing is called a fire swinger. They're big boulders, 'bout the size o' a shrew's 'ead, an' they're bound with strong rope or vines an' 're dipped in oil or bound 'round with canvass or bracken; sometimes, if'n either o' these're used, they're soaked in oil, too. Then they're lit an' the hurler swings it 'round their 'ead an' releases it in the direction o' the target. 'Tis as easy as throwin' a sling."

Lin watched Vrak, the eldest of the three ratbabes, hurl off another missile with a squeal of glee. Her black eyes were shining. "Have these fire swingers ever been used without being lit?"

Gogra shrugged. "D'know. Why?"

"If a score of beasts knew how to use them and were in a good line of fire . . ."

Vittonae suddenly caught on. "They'd do a good peck o' damage to any buildin's in their way, an' anybeast, too!" She jumped up. "What d'ya say we go an' round up a couple o' beasts to 'elp us out with tryin' it?"

"Tryin' wot?" Gogra hadn't yet figured out her two friends' train of thought.

Lin explained. "If the fire swingers weren't lit but were thrown accurately, they could really wreak havoc in a densely populated town. They'd be a great party-opener for an assault on the village on Tarenta."

Gogra blinked slowly, processing this. "Me Rapp knows all dere is ter know 'bout fire slingers; if'n ya want ter try dem out, ya'll want ter talk ter 'im. 'E'll 'elp ya."

Her squirrelmaid friend shook her paw energetically. "Thankee, my friend, thankee kindly!"

Gogra grinned even as she tried to extract her paw from the powerful grip. "Ah, no problem t'all, missie; 'tis a pleasure t' be 'elpin' ya. Now off with ya an' go find me Rapp! Ya'll get nothin' done loiterin' about 'ere 'till yer fur turns grey!"

A short time later, after the squirrelmaid and the vixen had bid their ratfriend goodbye and had vanished down the street in the direction of the camp, Gogra peeked into her oven to check on the fish, shaking her head and smiling to herself. "Seasons, sometimes even grown beasts be'ave like liddle 'uns if'n dey've found somethin' ter rouse 'em!"

††

By early afternoon a fair-sized audience had gathered to watch the performance put on by those experimenting with the possible weapon. Many were clamoring for a chance to try one of the queer-looking things, and Lin was beginning to choose those whom she thought would be best fit for the task. Burly otters and hedgehogs were her first choices, but a number of sturdy-looking squirrels and many of the stronger vermin who offered services found their way into the group who stood about the pile of rocks and rope. Only two or three of the moles seemed at all interested in trying out the experimental weapons, but those who did volunteer were gladly included among the swelling band. Their black-furred commander knew the power hidden behind the short, stocky stature of the blunt-clawed creatures.

Doogy and Ruglar had joined Lin at the mark scored in the sand, behind which all those not throwing the big missiles were required to stand. The highland squirrel watched with fascination as a brawny young sea otter whirled a large rock about his head and suddenly whipped the projectile off. It sailed through the air in a graceful arc, crashing down to earth an extraordinary distance away. He whistled in admiration. "By the rocks! Those things go further 'n any sling or arrow Ah've e'er seen in me life!"

"Aye, that was a good throw," Ruglar agreed. "I must say Grawn is one o' the best slingers in me circle, but those things go far!" He pointed. "Look, can ye see the numbers o' 'em out there?"

Shading her eyes with her brush, Lin nodded. "Aye, they're getting thick. Maybe we should call a halt to bring them back. T'would save more rope from being cut."

She expected this to take some time, for the missiles were both heavy and numerous, but a small group of the Volkendians saved both the squirrelmaid and all those assisting her by rolling out from somewhere a fair-sized cart. Four of the strongest otters grabbed the shaft and crossbars, and the helpers piled in, whooping as they rode off down the beach in fine style. A score of others ran after them, laughing, and the collecting of the swingers – with so many willing paws and a vehicle strong and large enough to carry them all – made the task go at a rapid pace. Even so, it took three trips and a fresh team of pulling otters before all the missiles were all heaped into a pile behind the mark. Lin warmly thanked the otters and questioned them about their vehicle as the group of well over twoscore creatures who had been picked to wield the swingers went back to their practice. Her questions were technical; what did they use the cart for? How well did it run over rough terrain? Was it easy to maneuver?

A good-looking bewhiskered sea otter in his prime appeared to be the spokesbeast and he answered all of her inquiries readily. They used the cart for all manner of odd jobs, from hauling fish and farm produce to pulling quarried stone from the mines inland. It had been used on all kinds of topography and, although it could ride somewhat roughly, they had never incurred damaged cargo or anything lost over the side. Depending on just how rough the terrain was and the weight of their cargo, the cart usually was quite manageable. "'Tis kind o' ye, miss, t' be thankin' us so profusely, but why the interest in the cart?" Tugrom finished, staring at the squirrelmaid with a somewhat puzzled expression.

"I'm hoping to use these swingers on Tarenta," Lin explained. "I thought we'd have to either assemble them behind the lines and carry them to position or else have a crew actually making them on the battlefield. But a cart would be much better and could carry more. Maybe several, even, for different uses." Her black eyes were beginning to shine, as they always did when she was coming up with a new idea.

"Like carrying the wounded?" the youngest otter, Deynul, queried.

"Or extra weapons, or tools, or supplies." Runlea, the only female otter in the group, was getting interested. "An' they could even be used as barriers, in a pinch. Y'know, tipped on their sides like big shields."

"Hey, Lin, there're a couple of creatures who want a word with you." Oakfur was bounding up, waving to attract his friend's attention. He wore a light green tunic given to him by one of the Volkendians and, with this garb bound by the typical white cord belt of a Foeseeker, he cut a handsome and somewhat quaint figure.

Lin waved back at her Foeseeker friend. "Who is it?"

"Farlig an' his mate want to talk to you about provisions. The _Rose_ is supposed to be the ship with all the extra supplies, but there's either been a mix-up or they're not sure what they're supposed to bring or something." He shrugged. "Farlig said to tell you to put some wind in your sails 'cause he's got to get down to the supply sheds later this afternoon with the lists."

"Oh, great seasons!" Lin grumbled under her breath. To Tugrom and the other otters she reeled off a few rapid requests. "Could you all see what you can do about finding three other carts? It might be easier to just make a few new ones so they're easy to take apart and rebuild; if that's so, go ahead and get a few moles. They'll help. Sorry about this, I've got to go talk to Farlig." She waved to Ruglar as she headed off to join her friend. "Skipper, you're in charge of this slinger operation."

"All right, what's up?" she asked Oakfur as the pair loped off towards the docks. "I thought I gave Farlig a list three days ago."

"Something's wrong with it, I guess," Oakfur said with a shrug. "Anyway, the old spikybonce was insisting that he needed to talk to you about something having to do with cargo, or cargo space, or . . . I can't remember. I'm not even sure he told me."

"I guess I'll find out," the squirrelmaid muttered.

Farlig was a thin, pinch-faced hedgehog with scraggly spikes and small, shrewd eyes. A born arguer with a nasty temper, he never wasted a chance to wrangle with another over some little matter, or none at all. He stood at the head of the pier to which the graceful vessel _Rose_ was moored, tapping his paw impatiently as his beady eyes scanned the harbor front. Behind him his mate, Thrafle, an easygoing otter with a plump waistline and a massive frame, lounged comfortably against a piling as if he hadn't a care in the world.

As Lin and Oakfur approached the pair, Farlig pounced on them. Waving a piece of parchment wildly about, he raved, "Four days! I've got four days t' git all o' this rot onter the _Rose_, an' yew ain't even givern me a proper list!"

"What's wrong with it?" Lin demanded with some heat.

"What? What?" spluttered the fuming hedgehog. "Everthin's wrong with it?" He shoved the parchment under the squirrelmaid's nose, pointing to a line on it. "See that? Bread won't last two days at sea, an' yew want me to pack a whole cabinful o' it! An' here!" Again he jabbed his paw at a certain point on the list. "Mushrooms! Bah! Those things rot faster'n fish in a ferret's belly at sea!" He rolled up the parchment and jammed it into his belt, glaring at Lin. "Now, if'n yew write out a proper list fer me, mebbe I can git all o' this rot onter me ship afore yew leave!"

Lin was fighting to control her boiling temper. Oakfur came to his friend's rescue. "If you'll give us the list, sir, we'll write out a new one and make sure there're no perishables on it."

"Sir! Hah! That's a good one!" Farlig shoved the list at Oakfur with bad grace, turning on his heel. "C'mon, Thrafle, let's git about doin' wot we can do without these stuffy bushtails!" He stormed off toward his ship, nose in the air.

Thrafle was slower to follow. He rose slowly from his comfortable perch, languidly stretching every limb. He winked at the two squirrels. "Don't mind Farlig, mateys. 'E's a good creat'ure, 'e just don't like showin' it." The big otter sauntered off after his captain.

Lin took a deep breath, still fighting her flaring temper. Oakfur tugged her paw. "C'mon, we'd better get over to the _Dawn Queen_ to make out a new list in peace."

The squirrelmaid sighed as they headed toward the vessel. "Thanks for saving my line back there, Oakfur. If I'd said anything I'd have –"

Her friend cut her off with a wave of his paw. "Don't worry a thing about it, Lindenton Tarenta." He grinned. "I think I handle things like that better than you do."

"You're not far wrong there," Lin agreed wryly.

They made their way to the peaceful stern chamber where Tam and Lin had talked several days before. Lin fetched a piece of parchment and a fresh quill, and the two bent their heads over the list.

"Remember, we have no idea how long these things'll need to last," the squirrelmaid remarked as she checked the level of ink in the inkwell. "If this fighting lasts longer than I'm hoping it will or we're unable to get fresh supplies in after the fighting, these supplies'll need to hold out."

Oakfur nodded. "Got it. I'll read off the next thing on the old list, and if it's suitable we'll put it on the new list." He placed his paw under the first item. "Flour?"

Lin bobbed her head in the affirmative, writing it at the top of the new list.

"Apples?"

"If they're in barrels, then yes," the squirrelmaid replied, scribbling "apples" on the list and making a note beside it.

"Hmm . . . what's caracaska?"

"Caracaska? It's a kind of hard bread with all kinds of things baked into it. You soak it in water and eat it. Lots of that; that'll be good for eating on the march and it keeps well, too."

They continued through the listed items, a few being rejected and the rest being added to the new list. They were so engrossed in their task that they both jumped when a black head suddenly poked around the door. Lurri grinned at them. "We've all been wonderin' where you two were. C'mon down to the beach; it's eventide an' the cooks have a big brew goin' on the shore."

"Evening already?" Lin stared out the small window at the reddening rays of the setting sun. "But we only started a short while ago!"

"Then time must've been goin' slower outside 'n inside," the Foeseeker squirrel replied with a chuckle. "C'mon, hurry up! Those otters've cooked up some kind o' concoction called skilly 'n duff."

"What's that?" Oakfur looked blank.

Lurri shrugged. "D'know, some kind o' soup, I guess. They 'ave plums in one part o' it . . . I think it's in the duff. Any'ow, you two'd better hurry!"

"All right, all right, we're coming!" Lin grumbled with mock bad temper, pulling herself upright. "Think we're done with this list?"

Oakfur also rose. "Well, we've already gone through the old one once, so . . . yes, I suppose so. Want me to run it over to Farlig?"

"No, better have me do it." Lin grimaced, stifling a wry laugh. "I think he'd give you a tongue lashing into next season for not having it back to him sooner."

"Got it. We'll take it over together, then."

The squirrelmaid headed for the door. "Lurri, save us some of the . . . vittles, will you? We'll be over in a tick."

"Got it," Lurri replied, watching with a flicker of anger the retreating backs of Lin and Oakfur.

* * *

_Oooh, what's this? Lurri is mad? C-: I think it's pretty obvious what's going on with him; guess!_

_Yeah, yeah, whine whine whine. This was a filler chapter – I know. I am planning on making it the last one for a while. I included a LOT of important info, so stop complaining. I was spoon-feeding you some great stuff._

_Hehe, I loooooved the fire-swingers from Mariel of Redwall, so I made a revised version. Soooo much fun!_

_Anyhow . . ._

_Am working on the next chapter now! Consider yourselves lucky to be getting my first double update of all time!_

_~Foeseeker_


	46. Horizon

_45: Horizon_

The weather was fair, a fine wind carrying the fleet due south. The captains of the vessels skimmed their craft over the small wave crests, filling the sails with the breeze. Every now and then a sparrow would launch itself from the deck and perform a series of rapid aerobatics before alighting once more on their transport. Above the fleet could be seen Unglak, the young gull, lazily circling above his assigned ship, _Eye of the Night_. Scattered about on the decks of the ships was a motley assortment of creatures, most relaxing in the bright sunshine or experimenting with a wide array of weapons. The atmosphere was calm, almost lazy, but there was an alertness in the air and a flame in the eyes of those aboard the ships that would have dispelled a stranger's idea of peaceful travelers.

Lin and the leaders of each faction joining her had attempted to split each group evenly into the ships. Five of the seven Foeseeker vessels were among the fleet; the remaining six ships came from the harbors of Volkendo. Foeseekers, the few Volkendian squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, moles, sparrows, and a sparse scattering of vermin were distributed through the vessels – all warriors, fighting fit, well armed and prepared for battle. On account of the diverse array of creatures aboard every vessel it had been a key concern of the leaders to have at least one leader or leader's strong right paw on board each ship to help keep order. However, one ship was not in use as a transport; the vessel _Rose_, captained by the bad-tempered hedgehog Farlig, carried a minimum crew and contained enough extra goods to supply the army liberally for several weeks.

Each captain handled his own ship, adjusting course and speed to keep with the fleet but far enough from other vessels to avoid any risk of contact. But each captain also watched with half an eye the pennant fluttering at the _Dawn Queen's_ masthead. For she was the flagship, and where she went the fleet followed. Every so often small colored flags would run up the mast of one of the ships or a sparrow would leap into the air and flutter across to one of the other vessels. Messages carried quickly through the fleet and, if the wind wasn't whistling through the rigging, creatures could occasionally call out friendly banter to each other from the railings of their individual transports. Games of Volkendian origin, invented for the purpose of exercise and amusement on trading voyages to and from Tarenta, were even played between crafts. The Foeseekers quickly caught onto the games, and many a bout of laughter erupted at the ridiculous antics and outrageous mistakes made during these recreational pastimes.

Lin, perched on the crosspiece of the _Down Queen's_ mainmast, watched with amusement as a score of passengers on the _Dawn Queen_ joined in a game with a group of creatures aboard a neighboring ship, _Heron_. Somebeast had constructed a ball of tightly tied twine half the size of a fist. A long piece of fine, strong string had been fastened about it and tied to the rail of the _Heron_, enabling it to be easily retrieved if it fell into the water. From each team three slingers were chosen and these three took turns whipping off the ball. Since both the _Heron_ and the _Dawn Queen_ were flying along at a good clip parallel to each other a stone's throw apart, it was a challenge to send the ball at the right angle forward to make the goal – land the ball on the deck of the opposite ship without a member of that ship's team catching it. If this was succeeded, the team that had slung the ball got a point. If it was caught or fell into the water, the catching team got a point. Great agility was needed to negotiate the decks of the ships to catch the ball and both teams were worked hard as they dashed about, watching the little brown lump plummeting toward them out of the sky. Much laughter was added to the game when a few sparrows found amusement in attempting to pluck the ball out of the air, and the slingers were hard put to throw the ball fast and hard enough to prevent the nimble birds from getting their claws on it.

Their young commander smiled wistfully to herself as she viewed the fun, remembering when she had played such games in a different time and place and she had been a different creature. But it was amusing to watch fully grown beasts playing catch – albeit a much more difficult version of the timeless game. Lin idly twirled the slim gold-and-diamond bracelet about her wrist, remembering how much mental wrangling she'd gone through when appointing leaders to sail on each ship.

Slarave had been an obvious firsthand choice, for she was the official leader of the Foeseekers and thus was counted in the group of leaders. However, the black squirrel's past misdeeds had caused Lin to pass her by. Oakfur and several of her close friends warned her that Slarave, her pride insulted, might cause trouble, but the squirrelmaid was reluctant to leave the Foeseeker leader to her own devices without a check on her power. A compromise had been reached insomuch as Tam and Slarave were assigned together to the ship _Northern Lights_. Lin had been apprehensive as to how Slarave would receive the news, but to her surprise the Foeseeker leader had been quite willing. Slarave had even requested to talk to Tam concerning the organizational details of running the ship's multicultural system.

The last days before leaving Volkendo and the first day of the voyage had gone as smoothly as could have been hoped. True, five of Ruglar's otters had almost been left behind and a posse of hedgehogs had accidentally gotten onto the wrong ship, but all in all things had gone with only a scattering of minor glitches.

Of course, the partings had been hard. The Foeseekers who were not able or willing for combat – babes, old ones, mothers with young offspring – had remained behind on Volkendo. Adelaide, though she refused to let her circle accompany Lin, had warmly welcomed those of the black squirrels staying behind and had promised Lin she would find them accommodations, food, clothing, and whatever else they needed.

The Volkendians had, for the most part, attempted to cover up the pain of parting from their loved ones with jocularity and boasting, but there had been a strong undercurrent of sadness and worry that this would be the last parting. Lin's jaw set. For many it probably was, and she knew what it felt like. That firsthand experience would prompt her to make sure as few as possible suffered the same fate.

††

Three lazy days passed, with the weather holding and nothing of any real interest occurring until the evening of the fifth day. Lin, standing at the bow of the _Dawn Queen_, watched the sky with anticipation. Above the ship circled a number of sparrows, some darting out a short ways beyond the ships to study the southern horizon. To the west sank the glowing orb of the sun, the color of fire tinged with hot pink and framed with a scattering of purple-bellied clouds.

Captain Nauctus, standing behind his leader, watched the setting sun with a seasoned mariner's eye. "Ach, 'twill be a heavy fog taenight, lassie. We'll no' be able tae see the paws afore our noses!"

Lin pricked up her ears. "A heavy fog?"

The captain nodded. "Aye, that's wot Ah said. Why d'ye ask?"

The squirrelmaid turned back to watch the southern sky. "If the fog is dense we may be able to sail close to the Tarentian shore without being seen."

"Ye think we're that close?"

"Aye. 'Tis a five day journey, but we left halfway through the first day. Early tomorrow morning, before dawn, I think."

"There is nae wind in a fog."

"I've thought of that." Lin glanced over the rail. "All these ships – even the Volkendians' – have at least one bank of oars. 'Twill be easy to man them and get around the island point with 'em. Once we're by the point I think we'll be safe – unless the vermin have built colonies along the shore."

Nauctus flicked his tail in surprise. "Ah ne'er thought o' the oars, though Ah must say Ah'll take tae the sail any day. 'Twill feel like Ah'm sailin' with a crew o' slaves!"

His young friend grinned at the picture his words conjured up; Captain Nauctus with an eye patch and a cutlass, roaring out orders in northland vermin brogue. "Well, you won't have to feel like that long!"

A sparrow came zipping out of the sky to alight gently on the deck beside them. "Bigga gullbird comin', Linsquirrel!"

The squirrelmaid sucked in a breath. "Where?"

"Righta there!" The bird pointed with a wing. "See liddle black bugthing? That's him."

"He's awfully far away." Lin tried not to sound disappointed. She'd been hoping for news before the sun sank below the horizon.

"Bigga gullbird fly fast, fasta'n sparras." The sparrow fluffed his feathers. "He be here quickyfast."

"If you say so," Lin replied, keeping her eyes on the little black speck.

True to the sparrow's prediction, Unglak arrived just as the last orange rays were painting the water all the hues of flame. The young grey and white gull winged his way down to the deck of the _Dawn Queen_, landing with only the scratching of his webbed talons on the wood. Lin and Nauctus made their way over to him, the squirrelmaid signaling to one of the otters on deck to join them. Rellen was one of the few beasts who could interpret Unglak's hieroglyphics and Lin was going to need him when the young gull made his report.

Rellen made his way over to the two squirrels. He'd been instructed in his duties beforehand and carried a large piece of parchment and a pot of ink. Lin nodded her thanks to him and turned to Unglak.

"Have you anything to report?"

Unglak bobbed his head.

"Will we reach the island tonight? Around midnight?"

Another head bob, this time accompanied with a head tilt to the right. Rellen explained. "Tonight, just after midnight."

Lin nodded crisply. "What are the vermin positions?"

Unglak tapped the deck. Rellen spread the parchment out and placed the inkpot close to the gull. Unglak dipped a talon into the black ink and began drawing a series of lines and marks on the birchbark. Three heads bent over it as he worked. Lin pointed. "See, there's the harbor and the docks. That must be the harbor square, and there's a ship in the harbor. How many ships are there?"

Unglak freshened the ink on his talon and, beside the crude sketch of a ship he'd made, he marked thirteen lines. Rellen indicated them. "Thirteen ships."

Nauctus frowned. "Those'll mostly be vermin-sized vessels, no' the liddle one-masted ships we're used tae. Prob'ly hold a hundred each, at least." His brow furrowed. "Thirteen 'undred."

Lin scowled at this and fired another question at the gull. "Are there any vermin camped along the shore beyond the village, or are any ships anchored outside of the harbor?"

Unglak shook his head, tapping the village on the map to indicate the location of the collective group of vermin. Nauctus studied the sketch. "So wot'd be our easiest approach? Frae wot direction're we headed?"

Unglak marked an arrow coming almost directly from the north, angling a fraction westward. Nauctus nodded, straitening up. "Right! We'll circle 'round the eastern coast and land on the southern shore just after sunrise taemorrow."

After seeing Unglak off to his own ship, Lin joined Nauctus in the large stern cabin. With them were Rellen, Oakfur, and spokesbeasts for the three other circles; Grechek for the hedgehogs, Yurgo for the moles, and Flumewind the sparrow for all others. Rellen spread the rough map drawn by Unglak on the table. Lin pointed to a spot elsewhere on the table. "This is our current position, here. We'll make the island just after midnight. Captain Nauctus says there'll be a heavy fog tonight, so we shouldn't have to worry about being spotted. We'll cut around the point and head up the eastern shore to land on the southern coast."

The captain threw in his two cents. "'Twill be so thick we'll 'ave tae worry about spottin' each other. We'll 'ave tae rope the ships taegether single file."

Rellen banged his rudder down. "But that's impossible! The ropes'll snap if'n the ships aren't sailin' at 'zactly the same speed!"

Nauctus wasn't about to back down. "Well, d'ye 'ave a better idea?"

"Yes, I do!" Rellen drew himself to his full height, which was considerably greater than that of the captain. "We've got the sparrows, an' the gull. They can fly back an' forth atwixt the ships, an' all the captains can be given directions, so if'n a ship does get separated they'll still know which way everybeast else is goin'."

Flumewind blinked his fierce little eyes. "Sparra'll do. Wormfog mucha bad but weeum norra worry 'bout flyin' in it. Norra far, there an' back, easy!"

"So you an' your sparrows'll do it?" Lin questioned the sparrow. Flumewind nodded vigorously.

"Ya, we flyum 'tween earthcrawler boats, maka sure together!"

Oakfur had a sudden thought. "Would you be able to fly back and forth between the ships and the shore? That way the ships won't get too far from the shore and they'll know when they don't have to worry about being spotted by the vermin."

Flumewind spread his wings wide. "We flyum 'tween earthcrawler boats an' shore. We tell when safe!"

"Burr, but how we get the ships sailin' in a fog?" Yurgo chipped in. The plump mole was standing with his formidable footpaws spread wide, his arms crossed and his brows lowered. "Thur be no wind in a fog."

"We're going to set out the oars," Lin replied. "There're enough on each ship to get them all going at a steady clip; that's what they're for. Everybeast'll be tired from the rowing when we're done, but it'll work."

"Where're we goin' t' land?" Grechek asked. "We're sailin' away from the village to the south, but wot after that?"

"Frae wot Unglak told us there're no vermin on the far side o' the island," Nauctus replied. "We'll sail in there an' let a couple o' scouts out, just tae make sure there's no close danger – maybe even find us a few allies." He shot Lin a sideways glance as he said this. "If'n all's clear, we'll land. If not . . . well, we'll try another place."

"So we're hopin' fer the best an' not expectin' the worst?" Grechak snapped, eyes flashing. "Yer layin' yer plans as if nothin' could 'appen durin' the landin'. We've got to have a backup plan."

"And we do," Lin replied hotly. "If we can't land as originally planned we'll send out a few sparrows or Unglak to see if there are any clear places to land. If there are, we'll head there. If not . . . we'll have to either turn back or attempt an attack by sea, the way they took the island in the first place."

"Whoi aren't we doin' et thart way in the furst place, miz?" Yurgo demanded.

"They're all trained fighters, whereas the Tarentians had never seen a blade raised in anger before. They'd easily cut us down."

"Oi see." The homely mole nodded in understanding. "Gurt bad durtbags, those varmints!"

"Indeed," Oakfur muttered under his breath.

††

"Are you all right, Lin?"

"Well . . . yes."

"Just relax. Working yourself up will just make things worse."

"I know, I know. I'm . . . I mean . . ."

"It's been too long, hasn't it?"

"How did you know?"

"Let's just say it's easy to read your thoughts."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends."

Lin sat against the rail just behind the _Dawn Queen's_ bow, staring into the blank night-darkened wall of grey fog ahead. Oakfur sat opposite her, watching her face intently. His own face showed concern for his friend; she hadn't been herself since the meeting in the cabin that evening. Below them could be heard the steady swish of the oars through the water, a sound as rhythmic as breathing. It almost sounded as such. Although it was only a short time until dawn, Lin hadn't even closed her eyes between shifts on the galley benches. Instead she'd wrapped herself in a blanket and stationed herself at the bow, eyes never leaving the greyness in front of her.

On a sudden impulse, Oakfur grabbed his friend's paw. "It's Jome, isn't it?"

Lin started. For the first time she realized how long it'd been since she'd heard her brother's name spoken aloud. Back in the Foeseeker camp in the Northlands, when she'd told her story . . . "Yes."

"What are you worried about?"

"That . . . that he won't – be there." Lin blinked, hard. "It's been war since I've left. Anything could have happened to him, and he was probably made leader after the attack . . ."

"Leader?"

"Yes, since he was the chief's son. Everybeast would have looked to him . . . besides, he would have been helping everybeast and working himself hollow to make sure they had what they needed. He would have been chosen as leader. He was never a leader. I was the leader out of we two, and he always followed what I did." The squirrelmaid smiled slightly at the recollection. "I got us into so much trouble when we were younger, and he always took his share of the blame without batting an eyelid. I always fought discipline."

Oakfur grinned crookedly. "And look how well you turned out."

"Oh, stoppit!" Lin teased. "But . . . if he was leader, he'd – well, break down." Her smile faded as her mind turned back to its worrisome thoughts. "He could never stand that kind of strain for long . . . it just wasn't in him."

"Lin." Oakfur gently squeezed her paw. "Lin, everything will happen just as it's supposed to. I know, it can hurt." His black eyes darkened for a moment. "I've felt it too. Almost half my tribe gone by sickness, and my father one of them . . . It hurt when he died. Badly. But I think, if he'd lived, I wouldn't have been on sentry duty that day." Lin looked sharply up at him. He averted his eyes and would have blushed if he'd been able to. "I mean, I think any other sentry would have run you through without a second thought. I – I was too much of a craven to."

"Oakfur!" Lin's tone was reprimanding. "You're just different from the others. You weren't – well, stupid enough to kill another squirrel without a better reason than trespassing." She seemed about to say more, but then she too averted her eyes.

After several long, awkward moments Oakfur took a breath. "Everything'll be fine. Just stop worrying and enjoy the trip."

"Well . . . all right. I'll try."

They sat together, watching the fog intently and unaware of another pair of black eyes watching them from behind. Lurri, stationed in the crow's nest as lookout, glowered at the two figures below him, almost invisible in the mists.

Minutes passed, an hour. The fog turned from grey to light grey, then from light grey to silver. Swirls of vapor began to form. Then darker patches showed through, sporadically tinged with the colors of dawn. Captain Nauctus, at the tiller, laughed with glee as a puff of wind stirred the rigging. Crewbeasts were sent scurrying aloft to hoist the sails and the oarsbeasts below shipped oars. And the fog grew steadily thinner. _Eye of the Night_, the ship directly behind the _Dawn Queen_, became visible. Then the ship behind it. Lin was peering forward intently now. The island was close. She could feel it.

"Laaand hoooooooooooo!"

Lurri's call from the crow's nest brought an explosion of activity on deck. Shouts echoed back to those vessels behind, and sparrows launched themselves into the air to carry the news. Lin and Oakfur were joined by a score of others, all staring so hard forward that Lin discovered she was holding her breath. She let it out with a gusty sigh, evoking a few sheepish giggles from a couple others who discovered they were doing the same.

An otter's paw shot out. "There 'tis!"

Sure enough, there was a smudge of something through the gap in the mist that was unmistakably land. A great cheer went up from the crew as they saw their destination with their own eyes. Lin remained in the same place, staring, silent. A strange prickle had run up her spine at the sight. Home. It had been five seasons since she'd seen those shores, smelled the sweetness of the little flowers growing on the dunes, felt the softness of the sandy earth under her footpaws.

A paw gripped her shoulder. "You all right?"

Lin jolted, realizing several moments – long ones – had passed while her mind wandered to the past. She smiled feebly into Oakfur's concerned gaze. "What do you think?"

Her friend shook his head, grinning. "Come on. I think you'll want to be one of the scouts going ashore."

The squirrelmaid lifted her chin. "I'm going to be the only one."

Oakfur was taken aback. "The only one? But –"

"Why, Oakie, yer not gonna contradict yer leader, are ye?" Lurri appeared behind them, a roguish grin for the maid and a flash of a darkly lit gaze at her companion.

Lin felt Oakfur stiffen. His tone was indignant "Don't call me Oakie, and I'm not –"

"The longboat's ready to launch," Lurri said with spirit, cutting Oakfur off and catching hold of Lin's paw. "Captain Nauctus said I was t' be one o' the oarsbeasts. 'Tis right this way!"

The squirrelmaid smiled at his overenthusiastic manner even as she tried to slide her paw out from Lurri's crooked elbow. "Lurri, there's no need to escort –"

"Oakie, ye might want t' tell the cap'n t' send the word t' the rest o' the fleet that Lin'll be the only scout goin' ashore," Lurri interrupted. He kept Lin's paw firmly tucked in the crook of his arm. "T'wouldn't do t' have anybeast puttin' another longboat over the side without the need fer it."

"Don't you go tellin' me what to do," Oakfur growled. His shoulders had rolled forward and his eyes were flashing dangerously.

Lin shot him a sharp warning look. The young squirrel dropped his defensive stance and stared after the pair with a hurt expression as Lurri guided Lin across the deck towards the longboat around which several creatures were busily working. Her back to him, Lin didn't see, but Lurri, from the corner of his eye, noted the look on the other squirrel's face.

The squirrelmaid again tugged on her paw. "Lurri, there's no need for all the formalities. Just let –"

"It won't do fer the homecomin' warrior t' prepare fer the last step o' her journey without an escort!" Lurri tipped Lin a roguish wink. "Grand finale an' all, y'know."

Lin couldn't resist laughing at his reasoning and allowed him to lead her the rest of the way to the boat.

Rellen was among those preparing the little craft; he looked up and grinned as they approached. "We're 'bout ready to lower away, marm. If'n ye'll just wait a few minutes we'll be on our way."

Lurri chuckled as Lin gently reprimanded the otter. "No need for the marm, Lin'll do just fine. How many creatures are going?"

"Well, since ye seem to be the only 'un goin' ashore, just Lurri an' me'll be with ye. Two oarsbeasts. We'll wait on the shore fer ye to come back; a sparrow'll be with us to relay messages."

A ferret saluted the squirrelmaid. "All ready ter lower away!"

Rellen nodded. "Right. All clear, Traff, haul away!"

A massive hedgehog and two moles gripped a rope slung over the lowest crosspiece. There was a creak as the ropes tightened; then the longboat eased into the air, dangling from two sturdy loops about its bow and stern. Rellen and the ferret maneuvered the hull over the rail. The otter waved his rudder. "Lower away! Gently, now!"

The boat bumped the _Dawn Queen's_ side two or three times on its way down, but the bumps were not hard and the little craft hit the water with a dull splash. Rellen nodded to the ferret and, with one graceful bound, leaped over the rail and disappeared under the rippling surface of the ocean in a superb dive. The ferret chuckled and ran a stout knotted rope from the rail into the bobbing vessel below. "Ye two're squirrels, so I don't think ye'll find climbin' down too difficult."

"No, indeed." Lin was already halfway over the rail. "Oh, I almost forgot, there're supplies in the boat, right?"

The ferret nodded confirmation. "Aye, enough fer a full day. If'n yer ashore longer 'n that, we'll arrange fer more t' be sent out t' ye."

"Got it." The squirrelmaid nodded her thanks and easily swarmed her way down the rope. Lurri followed behind. The boat rocked each time one of the squirrels landed in it, but when Rellen suddenly popped over the gunwale the hull barely stirred. Lurri gave him a jaundiced glare. "How d'ye do that?"

The otter grinned. "Comes naturally t'we otters. Now, are we ready to be off?"

"More than." Lin checked the axe at her side. She'd sharpened it two days before and the silver edge gleamed with a deadly light in the rays of the dawning sun. The black head shone with a polished luster. Lurri whistled. "Now that's a warrior's weapon!"

Lin, her earlier high spirits gone, nodded absentmindedly without replying.

Rellen took the oars. "Nice slope to the shore, no rocks . . . we can sail strait in. Lin, ye take the tiller; Lurri an' I'll row."

Lin's eyes remained fixed on the shore, clearly visible now, feeling the smoothness of the wooden tiller under her paw as the boat cast off and began heading towards the sand.

* * *

_Not much to say about this chapter. Please review!_

_Foeseeker_


	47. Tension at Auditions

_**Book Three: All the World's a Stage**_

_46: Tension at Auditions_

Lin didn't hurry herself as she made her way between the generously spaced tree trunks surrounded by a sparse growth of ferns and bracken. Here and there a few wildflowers grew – under that sycamore was a clump of tiny violets, and by the mossy rock were a few white flowers shaped like bells. The squirrelmaid knelt to touch them. Lily-of-the-valley. Her mother had loved these blossoms. There had been a patch of them just outside the back door. With bluebells in the spring. And primroses.

She, Lurri, and Rellen landed on the beach by a cluster of boulders scattered across the sands. The squirrel and otter had set about mooring the boat and setting up a camp while the squirrelmaid headed off into the woods. Her silent mood had refrained the others from questioning her – indeed, from speaking to her. She didn't mind; she wanted to be left alone. These quiet woods were the place of her childhood, where her memories ran wild, where she hoped her kin were still alive and free.

Heading westward, Lin listened for the wide stream she knew to flow down to the sea in the area. It would make a distinct plashing with this decided slope; the hills that filled the center of the island were right on top of the shore on this part of the coast, unlike the northern shore. Willows and birches would grow around it and ferns would be abundant. Perhaps there would be watercress in the stream, or water chestnuts.

It didn't take long for her to find the crystal clear water, flowing through a bed of dark soil and black rock lined with moss and tall ferns. She bent to drink the life-giving liquid, half closing her eyes with rapture as the coolness flowed down her throat. So fresh and clean and tasting of the woods and open air. A thousand sensations flooded through her memory: freshly tilled earth, damp and dark; the smell of the still-warm sands as the moon rose over the rolling surf; the slippery new leaves on the tiny sprouts in the garden; the sound of the forever-pounding waves that had echoed in her ears since her birth. So many things that had gone and were still yet with her.

Refreshed, the squirrelmaid trekked on. Hours wore on; the sun climbed higher, its apex drawing close. As her fur grew warm from the golden rays, Lin was able to add more signs to her list. A maple leaf ripped through the middle, as a claw would do. A freshly broken fern frond. A few bark chips torn from the scaly trunk of a pine. That had been a squirrel, climbing the tree in such haste he'd slipped and knocked the bark loose.

She wandered on, her senses attuned to the forest around her, ever on the alert for anything out of place. But it was with a sigh that she finally squinted up at the sun directly overhead. Noontide and still nothing but signs, and poor ones at that. Nobeast could track creatures who had so skillfully covered up their trail – or traveled through the treetops. Surely if there were any beasts who were not vermin in the area they would have patrols combing the vicinity? Danger lurked on the tranquil isle; anybeast who didn't keep a keen eye out for trouble was in deadly danger of a dagger in his back or a slaver's whip about his ears.

It took her another hour to drag herself away from her search and wend her way back to the longboat. Lurri was standing guard a short distance from the little camp the duo had constructed. Rellen was mending something, apparently a net, his back to a large grey stone. Both started up as Lin emerged from the tree fringe. Opening his mouth to say something Lurri began to step forward, but Rellen stopped him with a growl. He'd seen the look on the squirrelmaid's face and knew enough to respect it. Lurri, looking quite abashed, retreated. The otter motioned wordlessly to a wedge of cheese, two biscuits, and a piece of smoked fish – garnished, apparently for the fun of it, with a sprig of rosemary. Lin silently picked up the victuals and moved a short distance down the beach, settling herself on a small hillock of sand and promptly spread her meal out on her lap. Rellen and Lurri tried to ignore her. Nobeast with a face that hard and eyes lit with that fire ever should be messed with, by friend or foe.

After she'd finished the squirrelmaid didn't get up straight away. Rather, she sat with her legs up to her chest and her chin on her knees, staring out to sea. She remained so for some time, the wind blowing her fur, the sun heating her back, unmoving. Both the creatures by the longboat kept throwing her wary glances as they attempted to causally work at their tasks.

Finally Lin rose and strode back to her two friends. She headed strait for the food packs and carefully emptied one of them, refilling it with whatever she knew to be energizing and not prone to rapid deterioration. Several chunks of caracaska were among the first things to enter the pack, along with a flask of water and a couple wedges of cheese. Lurri and Rellen watched her as she moved those provisions which had originally been stored in her pack into other sacks. Then she swung the bag which she'd filled onto her back, strapped it over her shoulder, and nodded to the pair. "I'm not coming back until I find them or my supplies run out. Good luck to you."

"And same to you," Rellen whispered as he watched the dark-furred figure vanish back into the trees.

Lurri simply followed the squirrelmaid with his eyes, his gaze burning.

††

Aboard the _Dawn Queen_, Oakfur gazed disconsolately over the rail. Captain Nauctus, perched on an upturned cask, watched the young squirrel with a keen gaze. When Oakfur noticed the captain's eyes on him, he shifted guiltily. Nauctus didn't hesitate. "Worried, are ye?"

Oakfur hesitated. "Well . . . aye."

"Aboot wot?"

The young squirrel stared back over the rail. "Nothing you need worry about. You have enough on your paws."

Nauctus shifted his position, leaning forward earnestly. "Do ye no' think one o' me tribemate's troubles is me business? We share the same blood an' the same pride in our birthright; our lots're in t'gether."

Startled and touched by this gruff but earnest speech, Oakfur looked up, his ears turning crimson. "Have – have you ever –"

Nauctus grinned; he had a pretty good guess what was on the young squirrel's mind. "Dinne fear, laddie. Ah'll ne'er tell another livin' beast. Go on, there's nobeast aboot."

Oakfur took a deep breath, then blurted it out in one go. "Have you ever thought you loved a maid and feared another would steal her?"

Nauctus nodded understandingly. "Ah thought it 'twas somethin' like that. Weel, ye've come tae the right beast, laddie. Matter o' fact, Ah have thought that afore, ye ken."

Somewhat startled at this response, Oakfur straitened his defensively hunched shoulders. "You have?"

Now it was Nauctus' turn to look over the rail. "Aye, laddie. 'Twas many seasons ago now, when Ah was no' much older 'n ye. Mah brother'n Ah were the best o' friends growin' up, ye see. We lived in the southeastern division, but we ne'er had a problem until . . ."

††

_Nauctus and Tekren, Tekren and Nauctus. That was the way it had always been. Nauctus was the elder, but Tekren was the more outgoing. He was always the center of any crowd, popular and dashing with a roguish grin that would charm crows out of their nests and sharks out of the sea. He was an asker of questions and a seeker of understanding, even if he was a bit cocky. He was the complete converse of his elder brother, who took things stolidly and without questioning them; an introvert, he found it rather difficult to make friends among his peers, getting along much better with elder beasts. The young squirrel was often called the owner of a rugged face – which meant he appeared far older than his years and even then displayed the grizzled fur which would seasons later be one of his characteristic features. Nothing could faze him, and rare was the day he offered a genuine smile to anybeast, though inside his passions rocked up and down like a roller coaster. The only creature with whom he ever dared to share these feelings of happiness, sadness, melancholy, or joy was his brother. Tekren understood his quiet brother better than any other living creature, and he himself found a willing listener in his brother for his own problems. Nauctus, for all his impassiveness in company of strangers, was a keen listener, thinker, and tactician and loved a good puzzle or quandary to twist his mind around and solve._

_Then Reyna came into their lives._

_She was a young maid very close in age to the two brothers. She had been a member of the northern division of Foeseekers, but when a battle was fought by the southeastern division with a pack of vermin a dent was created in the division's ranks and a few families from both the northern and southwestern divisions came to help balance out the numbers. Reyna's family had been among those transferred to the southeastern group, and there she began to spread her manipulative paw through the ranks of the youth._

_Reyna could only be described as an aristocratic belle, with long black lashes framing her sparkling jet eyes, a dancer-like figure and poise of which a queen would be proud. With a voice like a nightingale and a talent for coyly flirting with the handsome young squirrels, she was enough to win – and break – any youth's heart. And she exercised this ability constantly, much to the annoyance of some of the elder squirrels who knew such behavior to be obnoxious to most and dangerous to the confidence and self-assurance of many a young lad._

_Needless to say, both Nauctus and Tekren fell head over heels for this dashing beauty. At first they attempted to unobtrusively follow her about – though they failed to succeed in not being observed by the creature of their fascination. However, no harm had ever come of Reyna's fluttering eyelashes or her coy glances – besides, of course, numerous young squirrels going away with a broken heart and the firm conviction that females were strange creatures with ways so queer as to be residents of another world._

_Gradually the brothers began to not just follow Reyna about but to give her gifts. They became members of a posse of other young squirrels, each enraptured by Reyna's beauty and each determined to win her favor. Reyna, pretending innocence to the passions of her suitors, accepted each gift with an alluring smile and a few demure words. Every suitor to a squirrel found this reception both maddening and beguiling and they began to bring gifts and presents in a steady stream, for youths who worship a maiden never think strait, especially about the pretty lass who is the object of their passion. She could be leading them into a pit of vipers and they'd never think to question the trail or to even look about to view the place towards which she is luring him. Those who truly love remember to pause and make sure the way is safe – for both of them – and then he leads the maid onward, instead of the other way around, with her acting as a prudent lookout and counselor down the path fraught with peril. But a maid who only wishes to toy with her victim before moving on to more entertaining sport will bait her lovestruck beau onward and then cruelly leave him to his fate – one of the most barbaric tortures yet imagined._

_As time passed, Reyna seemed to welcome one squirrel more warmly than any of the others. He was quite handsome, with a roguish smile and a handsome face which expressed his charm and wit quite dashingly. Tekren sensed the beautiful creature was showing signs of weakening to his persistence and ardent passion and so he redoubled his efforts to win her. She slowly seemed to melt to his determined zeal, and it gradually became known through the ranks of the youth that the aristocratic Reyna had finally succumbed to one of her admirers._

_Upon hearing this Nauctus was both heartbroken and furious. It had been his lifelong belief that he and his brother, though different, would do everything together, help each other through their troubles and share their moments of bliss – always together. But now he had to face the fact that, indeed, he and his brother lived entirely separate lives and would have to go their separate ways as each made his own choices as to the paths his life would take._

_But the young squirrel didn't know what to do. He sulked about for some days, letting his anger fester and mooning over what could have been, what might have been. He avoided his friends, the maids in particular, and was always careful to keep out of his brother's way – and flatly refused to go within a hundred paces of Reyna's tent, nor approach anywhere near her on the paths between the rows of bivouacs._

_But one can hide from reality only so long and it was only a matter of time before the two brothers finally came face to face. Nauctus was skulking down a little-used trail between two of the huge storage tents, keen on wending his way to one of his favorite hiding places, when he nearly ran right into somebeast. Looking up, he beheld the face of the one creature he'd dreaded meeting for the past fortnight; Tekren._

_The younger squirrel was in the highest state of excitement, for Reyna had proposed to have a small party with him and a few friends. He'd obtained permission to draw some extra food from his family's allowance and had been on his way to collect it from the storage tents when his brother had turned up on the path. Keyed up and energized by the coming party, Tekren failed to notice the grim look on Nauctus' face. He grabbed the older squirrel's shoulder, unintentionally squeezing hard. "Nauctus, I haven't seen ye fer days! Where've ye been all this time?"_

"_Leave me 'lone," Nauctus growled, knocking Tekren's paw away._

_Tekren still didn't notice his brother's sullen manner. "Sorry, didn't mean to squeeze. Did you hear? Reyna's having a party fer some of her friends!"_

"_Who's invited?" Nauctus demanded sulkily._

"_Well . . . me, 'n Parka, 'n Kalnih 'n Windrik 'n Oonon. Why?"_

"_Not surprised." Nauctus hunched his shoulders and pushed by Tekren._

"_Not surprised about wot?" Tekren, puzzled, caught up with him._

"_That I'm not invited."_

"_Oh." For the first time this fact seemed to dawn on Tekren. He considered it for a few moments. "Well, I can ask her t' invite ye, too."_

"_No, thanks."_

"_Why not?"_

_Nauctus took a deep breath, feeling the whirling vortex of emotions churning inside him, begging – screaming – to come out. When he exhaled, it was with a stream of words thick with anger and fury. "You – you run off with that – that _squirrelmaid_ – and don't give a thought that I might like her too!" Without thinking he advanced on Tekren, his paws balling into fists and his eyes blazing. "You stuck-up, conceited, prideful little – sneak! Attending her parties! Showering her with gifts! Winning over little miss hard-to-get! Pah!" The young squirrel curled his lip with scorn. "She's turning you into her little lapdog! 'Fetch this!' 'Carry that!' 'Honey in my tea!' Reyna's pet, her valet, ready at her beck and call!"_

_Tekren scowled, going into a wrestling crouch. "You – you _dare_ to call me those names! You'll regret that before this day's over!"_

"_Willingly! But you'll have earned them!" Nauctus snarled._

_Without further ado the brothers, once bonded by close comradeship, leapt at each other. Nobeast knew exactly what happened during the fight – for neither would talk about it afterward, nor was any other creature about to say what happened – but it was known – very well so – that both were locked up for engaging in a savage brawl with a tribemate. After a brief trial – Foeseeker trials were never lengthy or involving much more evidence than the miscreant telling their story and those creatures who intervened, if any, explaining what they knew of the incident – Tekren was given three days imprisonment and then released. Nauctus, as he was the instigator of the fight, even though Tekren willingly accepted the challenge, was given five days. During this time the brothers made up, but both knew their relationship would never be the same again._

††

Oakfur was staring goggle-eyed at the captain. He couldn't imagine such things – fighting with one's own brother over a maid who didn't care and losing what one had once treasured more than anything else; the relationship with one's closest friend. But perhaps he could imagine it . . . Wincing, he remembered a long-ago day in his childhood when he and Lurri had shared the same hiding spot during a game of hide-'n-seek. Such a long time ago . . .

"What happened to Tekren and Reyna?" he asked the captain, collecting his thoughts.

Captain Nauctus was staring out over the open sea, away from the island. Oakfur was unable to see his face, but he sounded as if his features were set in a stony blank. "Reyna toyed aboot with 'im fer a bit longer, 'n dropped 'im fer somebeast else. 'E was heartbroken, but he later met another maid – this one more sensible an' less flighty – an' they were wed. 'E was killed in battle an' Saniri died en the great plague some seasons back."

Oakfur nodded somberly. "I remember that . . . it took my father." He looked up at the captain's back, the only part of him visible. "What – what happened to you afterwards? What did you do?"

"Me?" Nauctus swiveled around on his barrel perch. His face was oddly twisted in an expression that was almost mournful yet, at the same time, amused. "Me? Almost as soon as Ah was released from me sentence Ah left the tribe, 'eaded north. Ah spent the next twenny seasons – nay, 'twas more 'n that – on the far north shores, much father north 'n the Foeseekers e'er went. That's where Ah picked up me accent, y'see. An' 'twas where Ah learned sailin' an' how to handle 'n mend a ship. Eventually Ah captained me own vessel an' sailed 'er home t' rejoin me tribe."

"What vessel was that, sir?"

Nauctus grinned. "No need fer the 'sir,' laddie. An' as fer the vessel? Yer standin' on 'er deck at this moment."

"The _Dawn Queen?_ She's yours?"

"Aye, mine by seasons o' sweat 'n toil. But they were good seasons, mind ye."

"And – and Reyna? What happened to her?"

"Ah, Reyna." The captain's face clouded. "Nobeast really knows. She 'twas found dead one mornin' a few seasons after Ah left. Died in 'er sleep. She was so young, too . . ." His brow furrowed, then smoothed out. "'Tis of me opinion that she flirted herself tae death. 'Tis an ill wind when a maid starts flappin' her lashes aboot like butterfly wings an' does everybeast else no good t'all!"

Oakfur grinned in spite of himself. He sobered rapidly when the captain turned his keen black gaze on him and himself asked a question. "So, wot're ye goin' tae do aboot yer liddle . . . situation?"

The young squirrel stared at the deck. "I – I don't know. I . . . Are all maids like – like Reyna? Do they all just – toy and tease and then drop . . ?"

Nauctus gave him a dead stare. "What d'ye think?"

Oakfur answered hesitantly, for he had seen a quantity of Reyna-like traits in other maids. "Not all? Just . . . some?"

"Ye're bloomin' well right!" the captain shouted, looking almost angry for a moment. Then he abruptly and entirely unexpectedly began to snicker under his breath like a young one who has gotten away with stealing the candied chestnuts. "Ye're right, an' ye're lucky that ye've not picked a maid wi' such cruel intentions!"

The younger squirrel, not seeing what was so funny about this – or perhaps it was just a sort of nervous reaction on the captain's part – kept silent for some moments, studying his paws. Finally he took a breath, collected his nerve, looked up, and said: "What if – what if she prefers Lurri?"

Nauctus calmed down instantly and considered this. "Ah think the best thing ye can do is watch 'em taegether. Ah'm of the opinion that she's not entirely comfortable – or relaxed, may'aps – around 'im. Ah've ne'er seen her open up tae him, an' Ah'll say this; they dinnae spend much time taegether. T'ye it may seem like quite a bit – aye, he talks tae her whene'er he can – but she ne'er seems tae have the desire tae stroll off an' engage in idle chitchat. Not that ye two e'er do, but – Ah think ye get me point."

"Aye, I think I do." Oakfur studied a knot in a wood deck plank. "But what if you're right, and she doesn't – prefer him?" His ears began to turn red again. "Then what?"

Nauctus hid a smirk. Time and time again he'd witnessed – or heard descriptions of – proposals. He'd never really felt what he'd call jealousy of the engaged couple, but . . . It was always interesting – and amusing – to witness or hear described the youth before he proposed to his beloved. "Nobeast was e'er hurt by tellin' the truth strait out. If'n she's for it she'll say aye, an' if'n she's against it she'll tell ye no. Yer friendship'll nae be hurt if'n she says no, Ah think; neither o' ye're of the sort tae have that 'appen."

Oakfur sensed Nauctus hadn't finished his list by the elder squirrel's tone. He leaned forward earnestly. "And if neither of those happen . . ?"

The captain offered him a wide grin. "A keen one, aren't ye? Well, now, lemme see . . . If'n neither o' those things 'appen she'll say nae right now, Oakfur, thankee. Mebbe in a season or two, when things're a liddle more settled down – or mayaps she'll ask ye tae give 'er some time tae think it o'er."

The young squirrel again studied his paws, suddenly breaking off on what seemed to be, to the captain, a completely unrelated tangent – although it was altogether different in Oakfur's racing mind. "What'll happen to us?"

Nauctus was taken off guard by the question. "What d'ye mean?"

Oakfur looked over the rail, towards the island, covered with trees, filled with rolling hills and edged with gleaming golden sand and rolling breakers which faded into tiny smudges and then oblivion as they got further and further along the coast to the north and west. Such a beautiful place . . . "When this fight is over – I mean, with Groomyer, that fox Lin told us about – what'll happen to we Foeseekers? Will we be allowed to stay here? Or will we go back to the Northlands? Or . . . what?"

At a loss for words, Nauctus also gazed towards the tranquil wooded isle on which was unfolding a series of not-so-tranquil occurrences.

††

Dusk was falling. A gleaming star was already twinkling on the eastern horizon as Lin rested at the base of a massive sycamore, her back against its sturdy trunk. She had paused for a few moments to pull out an oatcake and cut a wedge of cheese and make herself a sandwich. Close by the tinkling of the stream blended with the choir of crickets which, at this moment, was tuning up and practicing the opening lines of their respective symphonies for the night's performance. Not a breeze stirred the forest; the open forest floor created a spacious, almost mansion-like feeling, as if one was inside a huge room filled with columns and covered by a roof punctured with many little holes through which daylight – or starlight – could stream. Wistfully – and not for the first time that day – Lin found herself remembering bygone days when she and her brother and friends had lain under these same trees, watching the stars peep through the leafy foliage. Was it only five seasons ago? Or was it a lifetime ago? A lifetime at which the beginning was lived by another squirrel?

It was with a jolt and a stab of – was it fear? – that a thought suddenly came to her. _Would they recognize her?_ It had been five seasons, and in those five seasons she'd changed in more ways than one. For one, time had altered her appearance, as it would have done for them all. She looked far more mature than when she'd left. For another, her fur was marred by several scars, not the least of which was the line across her jawbone. She touched it, remembering the whiplash of the slave driver that had opened her face and let the blood flow.

But more than just her looks had changed; she herself – who she was – had somehow undergone a transformation, too. Instead of the daring, happy-go-lucky young woodmaid who had been both wild and gentle and had been known and loved by the whole village, an astute, keen-eyed, confident warrior dressed in foreign garb and wielding a battleaxe was returning to the place that she'd once called home. Even her very manner had changed, from loud and rambunctious to calm and calculating. Her head was held high, her shoulders were squared in a very militaristic fashion. Her eyes gleamed with the look of eagles, the fire of warriors, the glowing ember of her kindled spirit. It was a completely different creature who watched for any sign of her tribemates – or enemies – through the gathering gloom through the maze of strait, impassive tree trunks.

Lin took a deep breath. Well, she had a voice, didn't she? If they didn't recognize her, she might even be able to play it to her advantage. But Jome's face . . . he would know her. He _had_ to know her. Hadn't they spent their whole youth together, closer than two peas? They knew each other better than a fish knows the water. He would know. Lin didn't even want to ask herself what she'd do if he didn't.

As she absentmindedly munched her bread and cheese, she began to get the sense she was being watched. It was not an unexpected feeling; indeed, she'd been waiting for the feeling to creep over her since she first set paw on the sands of her homeland. But it made her uneasy all the same. Feigning unconcern she continued to eat, keeping one eye on the surrounding forest, particularly between the trees. If it was an enemy it would come from on the ground. Only squirrels – those whom she knew would be her allies – would come from the trees.

There! A flash of something darker even than the shadow it lurked in, among the low-hanging branches of the alder yonder. It was too high up, and moving too fast, for a vermin. Lin relaxed. Tarentians. It could be no other creatures in the world. She slowly stood up, having finished her small meal, and adjusted the strap of the carrying pack across her shoulder. Trying hard not to peer too intently into the surrounding forest for another sign, she sauntered off towards the alder. They would not wait about there, but it was worth trying to see if she could scare them out by showing she'd seen them. She could hear a slight rustling now, though she could see no movement. It, or they, was circling her.

Just before she reached the alder there was a crackling sound behind her, as of dry twigs being snapped. Then a soft thud of footpaws on forest loam, followed by a harsh command. "Turn around slowly and don't try to fight. We have you covered!"

The squirrelmaid slowly turned, her paws well away from her axe. No point in stirring up trouble by showing any sign of aggression. She lifted her eyes as she turned, eager to see who had spoken.

Two squirrels stood there, each wearing a ragged, patchy tunic of what seemed to be a mixture of cloth and broad dried leaves sewn together. Both were thin, though not gaunt, with cold eyes and hard-set jaws. In the paw of the larger was balanced a wickedly pointed throwing javelin, made from a wooden stave with one end fire-hardened and scraped into a lethal tip. The other gripped a rusted dagger with a notched blade – a blade of vermin make, Lin saw with a quick glance. Rats in particular liked the broad crosspiece styled with one or two hard lines such as this. She couldn't identify the pair, but there was something uncannily familiar about them. _If I only hear their names . . ._

"Stop staring and look at me!" snapped the larger squirrel, apparently the leader. Lin jerked her gaze back to him, meeting his glare with the same stony determination – a look which seemed to startle him.

"What do you want with me?"

The big squirrel was apparently rattled by her flat tone and no-nonsense manner and his voice took on a blustering quality. "Er – look here, what're you doing here? Are you from those ships that're anchored off the shore close by here?"

Lin gave the tiniest of nods. "Yes. What's that to you?"

"Who's aboard that ship?" The squirrel began to pace a circle around her. "Who are you? What're you doing here?"

The squirrelmaid followed him with her eyes. "I'm no one worth trifling with, I think. I'm here to speak to your leader."

"Jome?" the squirrel sneered. Lin's heart leaped at the name. "That incompetent fool? Hah, you'd be better off speaking to the babes than talkin' to him!"

The squirrelmaid fought to control herself at this besmirching of her brother. "What's wrong with his leadership?"

The squirrel seemed to find this hilarious. He threw back his head in a raucous laugh. "Ho ho ho ho! What's wrong with his leadership? Everything's wrong with his leadership! He doesn't organize proper foraging patrols, he gets our scouting parties captured with his fool's-errand missions – why, he can't even fight properly when one of the vermin patrols –"

"Shut your big mouth!" snapped the smaller of the squirrels. "She's not with us, as far as we know, and if she's not with us she's against us. She could be a spy, for all we know!"

"I'm not a spy!" Lin snarled with more ferocity than she'd intended. Both of the squirrels were incensed by her tone. The larger one paced in a tight, rapid circle around her, growling under his breath. The smaller one stood right against her nose, shaking his dagger in her face.

"Now look here, you! Don't you go using that tone with us, or you'll find your tail decorating your ears!"

He had hardly spoken when he found himself sailing in one direction and his dagger in the other. His companion stood slack-jawed as a hissing streak of silver and black whizzed by him, neatly knocking the javelin out of his paw and sending it clattering into the ground. Lin flicked her axe at it, hard-eyed. "Pick it up!"

"Don't!" the smaller squirrel squeaked from his sprawled position on the ground several paces distant. "She'll just chop your paw off!"

Lin, who had found disarming the two unwary squirrels easier than she'd expected and wasn't too happy about discovering this lack of guard, couldn't resist a small smile at the smaller squirrel's words. "Oh, I'm not going to do that just yet – that is, unless you two don't buck up and act like soldiers. For heaven's sakes, why'd you attack me anyway?"

"You're not one of us and you're too well-fed to be an escaped slave," the larger squirrel sulked, retrieving his lance. "Besides, you had that fancy axe on you, and 'tis our policy to always attack armed strangers. You're lucky we didn't run you through."

"Indeed," was all Lin said, but she couldn't help thinking that they'd have had quite a difficult time trying to run her through. This, however, she kept to herself.

"Now, what are your names?" she asked after they'd picked up their weapons and dusted themselves off. She was dying to know the identities of the pair, for she couldn't shake the feeling that she knew them, however ragged and surly they seemed.

"I'm Frenil, and this is Wiknev," the larger one replied promptly, pointing first to himself and then to his companion. The smaller one – Wiknev – didn't say anything, merely bobbed his head in greeting.

Lin sucked in a breath. Frenil and Wiknev. She remembered them from those long-ago days when she'd lived so quietly here in peace with her family and tribe. Frenil had been the son of one of the most successful merchants on the island; a few seasons older than Lin, she hadn't really known him but recognized him in passing. Wiknev had been one of the gang, Lin's own little pack of close friends and cohorts who had such rollicking fun in the forest and the surf, forever getting into glorious trouble in some well-meaning but disastrous event. He and the squirrelmaid – he a season her junior – had been fair friends, though not close ones, and had been acquainted with each other since childhood.

"Wot's with the face?" demanded Frenil. Lin realized her countenance had registered surprise. She wrestled to clear it.

"Oh, nothing. Just a thought that crossed my mind." She squared her shoulders and drew herself to her full height. "Now, I don't care how incompetent you think your leader is. I demand to see him."

Frenil and Wiknev exchanged looks. Wiknev threw down their ultimatum. "All right, we will. But there'll be a few conditions."

The squirrelmaid returned her axe to its sheath. "Very well. What conditions?"

"One, you won't tell anybeast – and that means _anybeast_, mind you – about where our camp is unless we give you permission to do so. Two, no trying to fight anybeast or show off your fancywork or whatever." He shot a hard look at her weapon. "You'll give us your axe and whatever other weapons you have, too. Three, you'll do as we say. If we tell you to go somewhere, do it. If we tell you to get your fat tail out of our sight, you'd better be gone in two shakes or we'll be after you!"

"Agreed!" Lin snapped, yanking her axe's sheath strap over her head and thrusting it at him. "Now will you get moving?"

Frenil muttered something under his breath as he led off. Wiknev motioned for Lin to precede him and waited for the squirrelmaid to comply before following. They moved silently through the gloom of the twilight, which was broken only by the flashings of fireflies between the dark silhouettes of the trees. Not a word passed between the three, but each was busy with their thoughts.

††

In times of hardship there must be a leader. If there is not, the populations falls into anarchy and enemies move in and crush them – and often those enemies are from within the people. Leaders are chosen for their courage, their ability to make the idea of their leadership appealing to the populace. Less commonly, an ideal leader – or one who seems to be an ideal leader – is chosen by the populace, on rare occasion against his will. But in all these cases three factors will play out to determine the end result; that leader's true talent for leadership and handling of the boundless problems and issues a leader faces, his gift – or lack – of raw courage, and his willingness to sacrifice himself to help and hold together his people. Sometimes one or two are present and not the others, or he is lacking in one place and exceptionally adept in another. But if all of these are not present that leader will eventually crumble under the demands of his people and a new leader will be instituted – or, at least, an attempt will be made to raise a new personage to take over the responsibilities of the populace.

Lin knew Jome was both courageous and selfless. She had witnessed firsthand both of these qualities in him many a time and she recognized that her brother was not lacking in any way, nor to any extent in either. But she also knew he was a dreamer, a neat but unorganized paradox who always kept his things in order but could never remember where he'd put something. He was soft-spoken too, not one who commanded authority by his voice or manner. Nor could he make quick decisions based on a small amount of information or a need for immediate action – a dangerous weakness in a leader of a band of renegades in a war-torn land.

But he had been the son of the chief, doubtless the only one – or one of the few – who had kept a level head during those first few days of exile, when panic would have held a firm grip over the fleeing group. He would have been the comforter, the one who made sure each was fed, the organizer of a makeshift band of fighters to cover their rear, to keep an eye out for trouble. Yes, he would have seemed the obvious choice for a leader from that short period of intense trial.

They had been false hopes that had been raised as to the skills of the young squirrel, Lin thought as she swept her gaze over the Tarentain camp. He couldn't do all that for such a long period of time, though he would have tried his best.

The camp was tucked away in a grove of pines on a steep slope a good hour's march from the shore. No stream flowed close by, so it was a mystery to Lin where they got their water. About the entire camp was a sturdy screen of woven sticks a head taller than the squirrelmaid, broken by several gates, with vines and other still-living vegetation worked into it; it fenced off an area two or three hundred paces in width. There had apparently been a landslide on the steep slope many seasons past, for lumps of stone were scattered haphazardly and numerously about the grove. This same landslide must have uncovered the gaping hole that reared up out of the steep hillside, its yawning mouth partially covered by two or three woven screens. Directly in front of this was a large fire pit, dug down into the earth and the soil around it swept clean of the flammable pine needles. Scattered about this main fire were half a dozen or more smaller fires, the immediate area of each carefully cleared of needles. A pile of sticks and branches was heaped close to the main fire, apparently fuel.

And about all of this were several score of black-furred squirrels, cooking and eating, cleaning and mending, talking and arguing, working and sleeping. None took any notice of the strange squirrelmaid and her two guards, who kept to the outskirts and still did not speak. Lin wondered if it was because they didn't realize she was a stranger because of the darkness or if they were simply used to this kind of happening. As her guards led her along the edge of the group the squirrelmaid let herself study the Tarentians. She was sure she recognized one or two of them, but the firelight was poor to go by and she couldn't be certain. She did notice that there were very few young ones about; they must be asleep somewhere, probably in the cave, for it had been quite dark for some time now. All wore the same kind of clothes as her guards; ragged, patched, worn beyond recognition of any color whatsoever.

It took her a few moments to see where they were going. A large rock, pointed and tilted upwards like the bow of a ship, reared out of the earth. The slope here was not quite a cliff, but it was very close to it; a scattering of smaller rocks, embedded in the earth, seemed to be the only way up to the top of this huge boulder, which was close to a score of paces to the left of the mouth of the cave and the tip of which was almost level with the apex of the cave's mouth. But the rock only earned a fraction of her attention. It was the knot of squirrels at its base which captured her interest. Their tones were loud and angry and there was much waving of paws and fists. Lin listened in as they came within hearing range.

". . . and we still don't know what they're up to!" fumed a particularly burly squirrel.

Another squirrel, holding a torch, waved his paw. "Three of 'em have landed here. We've had scouts keeping an eye on them all day!"

"And have any of them reported back yet?" raged the burly squirrel, whirling on the speaker. "All day and not a word from any of 'em! We need to have information before we decide what to do! I say –"

"We should send a party down to see what's happening!" interrupted yet another squirrel. Lin noticed that there was a deep notch in this speaker's ear; how much fighting had been going on since she left? "It's been too long without any news! Something must have happened!"

"Like what?" sneered the smallest of the assembly. "If anything had started to even show signs of happening they would have been back here in a trice! They know when –"

"Please," said a soft voice. Lin winced. That was her brother. She would know him anywhere. "Please, there's no need –"

"And who asked you to interfere?" snarled the burly squirrel, waving his fist under Jome's nose. "You've no right –"

"Yes I do," Jome insisted with as much force as he could muster. "I'm the leader around here, and when –"

"Oho, so that's they way it goes, is it?" snapped the torch-holder. "First you appoint captains for all kinds of things; foraging, patrolling, camp maintenance, the lot! Then you jump back around and start yawping about how you have the power to order everybeast around, and –"

"I do not!" Jome fumed, but his voice was drowned under a barrage of shouts.

"I'll lead the patrol!" roared the burly squirrel, waving his fist.

"There's no need –" Jome tried.

"We should send other scouts to the west and east," another voice yelled. "In case there are more of 'em. We haven't heard anything from the posts there since dawn."

"Hlarac's right!" bellowed some other squirrel. "I'll take a patrol to –"

"There's no need for any patrols!" Jome thundered with all the force he could manage. Surprised, most of the squirrels stopped their arguing and stared. The burly one, however, took a pace forward with a threatening fist upraised.

"I think it's time we took matters into our own paws!" he snarled, reaching out to grab Jome's shoulder. Jome ducked away but the squirrel continued. "We've got eleven ships full of potential enemies right off the coast and you have the nerve to say we can't go and make sure our mates down there are all right!" He looked about at his audience. "What do you think, mates? What should we do with this creature who calls himself leader?"

A few in the audience looked nervous and remained silent, but well over half roared out their opinions and accusations.

"Depose him!"

"Kick him out!"

"He sent Pattrakar's patrol to their deaths against Groomyer!"

"Aye, and Taka was crippled for life!"

"Truss him up by the tail and get a new leader!"

Frenil and Wiknev had paused just outside the angry circle. As the score of angry squirrels pressed forward, Lin stood on tippaw and was just able to see Jome's face. It was frightened but also angry; a thrill went through her. Jome had grown up while she'd been gone. The two torches held by members of the assembly flickered eerily on his face, casting it mostly in shadow.

"So, leader," sneered the burly squirrel to Jome once silence had been restored, "What're you going to do now, eh?"

"You've no right to do this," breathed Jome, fighting to keep his voice steady though Lin sensed he was trembling.

"Oh, we don't, do we?" The big squirrel suddenly struck Jome across the cheek with his open paw. "Sniveling wretch! Go and tell that to the birds!"

"All of you supported me when I was chosen to be leader!" Jome replied with some heat, stinging from the blow. "Are you going to be so fickle as to turn your backs on your choice at the first hint of danger? Cowards!"

Infuriated, the big squirrel knocked him to the ground. "So now it's name-calling, is it? Nobeast ever called me coward and didn't suffer for it!"

* * *

_Oooh, cliffhanger! *crosses eyes to stare at tongue* Wow, that word tasted funny. How long has it been since I last used it?_

_Well, this is my longest chapter yet – exactly 7584 words. You guys got it lucky. Hope you enjoyed! Review! Please!_

_God bless!_

_~Foe_

_P.S. Look at the title of the third book (top of this chapter) and then watch the titles of the chapters as they come. Maybe . . . you'll see a connection. XP_


	48. Return to the Stage

_47: Return to the Stage_

The big squirrel's first blow caught Jome in the ribs, sending him stumbling backwards against the stone face. Then an upward hook, timed perfectly, struck his chin. His head snapped back and cracked against the rock. He slumped down, out cold. The big squirrel stared down at his crumpled form, his face hard. "Aye, we chose you as leader. We didn't know you'd turn out like this!"

"Hey, Rakka, patrol reporting in." Frenil, unable to stand either the tension in the air or the assembly's seemingly purposeful ignorance of his patrol's presence, spoke out. The group turned almost as one to stare at him; they had been totally unaware of the propinquity of one of their scouting parties. Lin slipped behind her two guards so as to be, for the moment, mostly unobserved. She wished to see what would happen, what they would say. Besides, she was so fuming with anger at their treatment of Jome she feared she would – well, something equally brutal. Instead she concentrated on remembering where she'd heard that named before. Rakka. It had rung a bell in her mind, albeit a rusty, little-used one . . . Why, Rakka was their second cousin's nephew, or something of the sort. A blood relation. She felt her own blood pumping hot and fought to keep down that boiling rage. Imagine blood fighting blood like this. They must really be desperate; though stronger than he knew and possessing a commanding character and a taste for immediate action, she couldn't remember Rakka being a bully or one who lashed out at his enemies.

"Frenil?" Rakka pushed his way through the rank of squirrels. Lin couldn't see his face clearly, for both the torches were behind him. An advantage for her; they would neither be able to see her clearly nor recognize her – well, they probably wouldn't. She was having a difficult time distinguishing them out of the myriad of faces and names from her past.

Frenil was reeling off the pair's report. "Went west as far as the twin oaks, turned south. Only one landing party from the ships; two squirrels and an otter. One squirrel went inland, other two stuck around their boat. Ships seem in good condition. We thought we recognized a couple vessels; _Eye of the Night_ and _Heron_, I think. Captained by Thuron and Vrath." He paused as Rakka made a sound of surprise. "They're allies, we believe. The otter in the landing party was that youngish fellow who came with Skipper Ruglar as a ship's boy the autumn before the takeover, Rallen or Rellen or summat of the sort. Volkendian. Never seen the others before."

"But they are allies?" Rakka was listening intently. Lin wondered if he was the second in command, for both Frenil and Wiknev seemed to be reporting quite naturally to him. Her mind sought Jome. Was he all right?

"Aye." Wiknev took up the report. "They're allies. Well armed and provisioned, too."

"How do you know?" Rakka demanded.

The two scouts exchanged looks. It was Frenil who answered. "We caught the squirrel who went inland. She was carrying a battleaxe and a fair pack of vittles."

"Where is she?"

"Right here."

Lin felt Wiknev's sinewy paw grab her arm and pull her forward. She found herself face to face with Rakka, though all she could see of his features were his glittering black eyes. Those eyes were not soft, either. His voice, when he spoke, sounded akin to the crack of a whip. "What are you doing here?"

Lin lifted her chin. She was keenly aware of the fact that the guttering torchlight did not illuminate her features well enough for identification, and she wasn't quite sure if this was a good thing or not. "I was looking for you and your tribe."

"Why?"

"I bring aid and reinforcements."

"Why do you think we need them?"

Lin was taken aback by this question; she'd never even considered it before. "I – you aren't able to continue trade with Volkendo, so you're unable to obtain many important things. Besides, you're fighting Groomyer; you'll need all the help you can get." She spat these last few words out with accentuated venom. The squirrels around her sensed her anger towards their common nemesis and began to murmur amidst themselves.

"You know of Groomyer?" Rakka was suddenly interested. "How's this?"

The squirrelmaid's teeth flashed in the flickering torchlight. "He and I have met before on this isle, aye, and fought, too." She suddenly rounded on him, eyes blazing. "Now git out of my way!"

It was a bold move, and an unexpected on the end of the receiving party. Lin abruptly shoved Rakka to one side, being none too gentle about it. As he, spluttering with indignation, recovered his balance, she stormed forward toward the covey of stupefied squirrels before Frenil and Wiknev could stop her. Pushing through them and knocking aside hesitantly extended paws, she growled, "What are ye, a pack of savages? Let me through! You're leader's hurt and you're not even doing a thing about it!"

He was quite decidedly hurt, as the squirrelmaid discovered when she finally made her way to his side. He was sprawled awkwardly at the base of the big rock, unmoving. For one terrifying heartbeat Lin thought his neck was broken, but a second glance told her his head was only turned to one side and dropped back. However, there was a break in the flesh on the back of his skull, and blood was seeping from this gash. This small but painful injury was situated on the crown of a sizable swelling which appeared to be growing larger. Jome must have hit his head hard.

Lin crouched to lift her brother into a sitting position against the stone face, but the assembly behind her was rolling into motion. Just as she gripped Jome's shoulder a viselike paw fastened about the scruff of her neck and she was hurled backwards. Rolling to her paws she tried to rise, but two weights seemed to descend on her back, pressing downward to pin her in a crouch. She attempted to twist away but another paw – in fact, a pair of them – grabbed the fur on either side of her neck and hauled upwards. Lin found herself gasping with pain and struggling to draw enough air past the pressure of her own flesh against her windpipe.

Then she heard Rakka's voice barking orders. More paws seized her wrists, pinned them behind her back. She was roughly dragged to her feet, still with the paws on her neck, though the pressure was slackened somewhat and she was able to breathe more freely. Somebeast hooked their paws into her cord belt, for what reason other than emergency backup restraint the squirrelmaid couldn't tell. She tried an experimental twitch and immediately felt all the restraining paws tighten. There was no chance of escape. She winced. Escape from what? Her own tribemates. Why was this happening? Why was she being held captive? She closed her eyes, answering her own question. She'd tried to make things run her way. She hadn't given any leeway for their way. Some diplomat.

When she opened her eyes she found herself staring into the blazing eyes of Rakka. The big squirrel stood squarely in front of her, paws akimbo, jaw set. The moment her gaze met his he began verbally berating her. "You come strolling in here, looking for us, acting as if you know best about everything, and top it off with knocking us around! What in the name of seasons d'you think you're doing? Are you crazy?" He took a breath, then snarled, "And who do you think you are, anyway?"

"I think I'm one of you!" the squirrelmaid blazed back with all the force she could muster. "Aye, and I've got eleven ships of friends just off the shore waiting for me to tell them it's safe to land. They're here to help you, and all you do is knock your own leader senseless and –"

"Hist! Cut the gab for a tick!" A squirrel was crouching beside Jome, waving his paw at Rakka and Lin. "He's coming around! Somebeast get some water!"

For the moment Rakka's quarrel with Lin was abandoned. A squirrel brought a clay beaker of water and a damp rag. The squirrel tending Jome carefully dabbed the rag on the back of the semiconscious patient's head, carefully wiping away the blood clotted in his fur. As the young squirrel dazedly blinked and squinted up at the faces around him, his caretaker pressed the beaker into his paw. "Drink."

Still only partly aware of what was going on about him, Jome absentmindedly sipped the beaker's contents. They seemed to partially revive him, for by the time he tipped the vessel back to catch the last drops his face had cleared and his eyes flashed dark and unclouded in the quavering light of the two torches. Many of the assembly hung back, whispering nervously amidst themselves. Only Rakka and four or five others stood boldly in close proximity to their leader.

Jome didn't hurry himself. Eying the half dozen squirrels close about him, he gingerly touched the bump on the back of his skull. He winced and dropped his paw, bending his head forward to let his tender dab at it with the rag. Even after this was done he continued to sit, with his back against the stone face, eyes half closed. Lin couldn't tell if he was stalling or still recovering from the knock he'd taken, but if he was stalling his acting was superb. She longed to call out to him, to tell him they were together again, but the paws that held her firmly warned her not to speak. The moment was not yet.

Finally Jome slowly pulled himself to his paws. He calmly, though reluctantly, faced Rakka. He was forced to lift his chin to look into the bigger squirrel's face, but his tone was unruffled. "Rakka, you've been my faithful right paw for five seasons. Why do you turn on me now?"

No part of Rakka's body moved except his lips; he remained in a rigid, aggressive stance. "You've never held a firm grip on our group, and now with eleven ships of unknown creatures right on top of our very camp and five of our patrols not in after a full day you refuse to let us send out search parties."

"That seems to be a very trivial reason," Jome said softly. He seemed reluctant to pick a fight with the big squirrel, as if he still felt a bond between them. But Rakka had other ideas. Arms crossed and footpaws spread wide, he thrust his jaw out belligerently.

"I'm doing what needs to be done," he declared firmly. "Five of our patrols are out –"

"Four, you mean!" Again, Frenil couldn't stand being ignored. He stepped forward impetuously into the wavering circle of torchlight. Jome and Rakka both turned their eyes on him, the former muttering, "So a patrol has reported in. Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I didn't know they had come in when I was arguing with you earlier," Rakka replied with some heat. Jome didn't reply; instead, he began questioning Frenil.

"What was the route of your patrol?"

"East, due south, then west. Turned back to camp just after sunset."

"Did you gather anything?"

"Aye. Eleven ships, some from Volkendo. We recognized _Heron_ and _Eye of the Night_. Didn't know the flagship. A landing party of three – two squirrels and an otter – beached their boat by those rocks below the hickory grove. We thought we knew the otter – Rallen or Rellon or summat – but I've never laid eyes on the squirrels. One, a maid with a scar on her jaw, headed inland to do some scouting; the other two stayed with the boat."

Jome caught his detailing of the squirrelmaid. "How did you see the scar?"

"We caught her just after sunset. She didn't put up much of a fuss –" Frenil glanced over his shoulder at a sarcastic snorting cough from Wiknev – "So we disarmed her – she was carrying a battleaxe – and brought her here."

"I see." The young leader looked about. "Where is she?"

"Right there." Frenil jabbed a paw over his shoulder at the group of squirrels restraining the squirrelmaid.

Jome signaled to one of the torchbearers to join him, peering intently at the knot of black fur and glittering eyes. "Unhand her, please, friends," he said softly to those gripping Lin. With marked reluctance they released her, stepping back only a very little and watching her with obsidian, unblinking eyes.

Jome halted six paces from the squirrelmaid, silently studying her, sizing her up. Lin couldn't help but notice the difference between his scrutinizing but gentle gaze and Rakka's penetrating stare. The torchbearer was standing behind Jome, the young squirrel's body throwing a shadow across Lin's face. He signaled the bearer out to his right. As the squirrel complied the Tarentian leader kept his eyes fixed steadily on the stranger.

He took in her well-cut sage-green tunic and its white cord belt, of foreign make to Tarenta. Her black fur was of little interest to him, for he saw that every day. But after flashing over these details in a single glance, he stared hard at her face. Yes, a scar ran across her lower jaw on the right side, partially marring the fur but not disfiguring the features. There was, perhaps, a seasoned air about this maid, as if she'd seen and done things that had matured her beyond her seasons. But that set of the jaw, the way her chin seemed to be forever set in a firm, square line . . .

The two locked gazes. For a moment the face of one was clouded with puzzled questioning, the other with a panic not quite successfully concealed. Then Jome's eyes lit up with a hope of which Lin suddenly felt unworthy.

"Lin?"

"Yes."

In the stunned silence following this exchange, every eye present was staring at the two figures in the center of the circle, their arms tightly around each other. Not a word passed between them, but their silence was better than a thousand words in that moment. More than one onlooker felt an odd twinge in the back of his throat or a prickle under his eyelids. The flickering torchlight rudely illuminated the scene, but complete darkness or blinding sunlight made no difference to the brother and sister who had been lost to each other for so long.

It was Rakka who shattered the moment. Scratching his brush and with a look of puzzled bewilderment on his face, he asked, "So what in the name of acorns happens now?"

††

"So what in the name of acorns happens now?"

Lin, Jome, and around half a score of those Tarentians who were the adjutants of the leading head were gathered about by one of the smaller side fires. A great deal had happened in the past hour. Much confusion had resulted when the identity of the Tarentians' captive was discovered. The squirrelmaid was accepted into the group with almost no questioning once the mess had been straitened out and her axe had been returned, and Jome conducted her on a tour of the camp. It was nothing impressive in looks, but much thought and ingenuity had been put into its construction. The fence which marked the camp's perimeter was used both as a containment guard for the younger squirrels and as a visibility screen for enemies. Live foliage and plants were carefully maintained in this screen, further enhancing its invisibility from a distance. Jome proudly informed his sister at least two vermin patrols had passed within a hundred paces of the enclosure and had never seen it. He only showed Lin part of the cave, for the other half was occupied by sleeping squirrels, but what she did see was surprising but pleasing; a vast entry cave, kept in pitch blackness, with three passages branching off; storage caves down one passage; infirmary, kitchen, and escape passage down the second passage. The third, the squirrelmaid was told, was the longest of the tunnels, of which many smaller chambers and passages branched; each chamber was occupied by one to four families, depending on size. Then Jome had hurried his sister off to a meeting with his seconds. Here stories were briefly exchanged and both sides were brought up to date on what had happened since their parting. They had finally finished this and were in the process of making arrangements.

A hunched but dangerous-looking squirrel with half an ear and a short double-pointed javelin strapped across his back answered Jome's exclamatory question bluntly. "We combine forces with our friends on the ships, make plans, and fight, that's wot!"

Jome shook his head. "Well spoken, Vezrel, but first there's the problem of getting those friends onto shore and into some kind of camp. There's no room here and numbers like theirs will need a separate water source; ours is removed enough already."

Lin's ears pricked up. "Speaking of which, you never showed me where you get your water."

Jome waved a distracted paw. "It's deep in the back of the cave; I'll show you tomorrow."

"Say, there's that tumbledown clearing a quarter hour's march to the southwest," spoke up Wrestt, a youngish male.

"That would work fair," chipped in Anilrae, the only female besides Lin in the assembly. The formidable scar across her right eye twitched as she continued, "There's a handsome stream running right by that clearing; lots of fallen timber for some makeshift structures and fences and whatever else might be needed."

Lin bent to brush smooth a stretch of bare earth beside the fire. "Just how big would you say this clearing is?"

Anilrae and Wrestt exchanged glances. The latter answered. "Well, it's a bit bendy-like; doesn't hold a regular shape, though it's sorta like a rough triangle. By my reckoning, it's about . . . about twice and a half the size of the harbor square in the village."

Lin was startled. "A whole clearing? That big?"

Anilrae hastened to explain. "Not exactly a whole clearing, Lin. Y'see, we think this area – I mean, this whole side of the island – is prone to landslides. The clearing we're in now, or at any rate the cave, was formed by a landslide. The clearing we're talking about is a lot like this one; half clear of trees, not much underbrush to speak of, some rock chunks scattered about. It's also got some fallen trees there, too. There're almost half a dozen such clearings on the southern slopes of these hills, all shaped roughly like a triangle with the wide end downhill." She shrugged, the firelight sending her scarred eye into shadow for a moment. "This one's the closest, but if you're needing another –"

"I think the one you're speaking about will do just fine," Lin interrupted. "Southwest from here, you said?"

"Aye," Wrestt replied quickly. "And that stream we mentioned – I'd almost forgotten this – has a very long mouth. A ship could sail up it and anchor at the point of the inlet and creatures and cargo could be unloaded twenty minutes' hike from the clearing. If'n ye've got as many creatures and supplies as you say that would be your best campsite."

Lin nodded agreement. "So be it then. From the fleet's current position, how would you instruct them to find this stream?"

Wrestt answered without hesitation. "Sail due west until y'see the first stream mouth. Then go up it, single file with half sail, for ten minutes. There'll be just enough room for the ships to maneuver."

The squirrelmaid nodded. "So be it then." She glanced at her brother. "You might want to send a messenger down to my two friends on the beach."

Jome shook his head and motioned to another member of the party. "Kren's the one in charge of organizing patrols; he knows who's fresh and ready for a fast mission."

The one addressed as Kren – Lin recognized him as a friend of her father's – saluted but spoke not a word. Lin again stated her request. "Please have a messenger sent to my friends on the shore. Have him tell – oh, never mind, I'll write a note – but have him carry a white flag. Rellen, the otter, won't attack, but if Lurri's on guard duty he'll jump a stranger without a second thought. Make sure Rellen gets the note; he's the more sensible of the two."

Again Kren saluted and vanished into the night without a word.

"But after everybeast is on shore?" Vezrel pursued. "What then?"

"I should think the first thing will be to rescue the slaves," Anilrae broke in before Lin could reply.

"I'd listen to her, if I were you," Jome murmured to his sister. "She only escaped Groomyer a season ago."

Lin's eyebrows shot up. "You were a slave?"

For answer, Anilrae held up her paws. The wrist of her left paw still carried a metal band, partially rusted and bearing a ring on the outer side. She shook her head sadly. "We have no tools to cut metal, more's the pity. There used to be a chain attached to that ring; it took four days to cut away."

"Accursed scum!" The paw of the speaker tightly grasped a sturdy yew bow, glaring venomously into the fire. "They keep those poor creatures under an eagle's talon, day and night!" His voice broke for a moment. "They've got my two little sisters, too."

Anilrae placed her paw on his shoulder. "When I left both of them were fine, Dilnrae. Don't worry so much."

"I can't help it," the young squirrel sighed. "They're the only family I've got left."

There was a moment of silence following this exchange. Lin guessed by the pained expressions on the firelight-dappled faces of several other members of the circle that most free Tarentians had kin held under Groomyer's paw. To break the silence, the squirrelmaid turned to Anilrae.

"How're the slaves held? Where're they kept when not in use?"

The other maid stared into the fire as if seeing amidst the coals another place and time. "Groomyer has six slaves, usually including an elderly or sick beast among the six, chained together. There's one long running chain, with locks that're put onto the short lengths of chain attached to each slave's paw manacle. The running chain is usually fastened to some kind or post to keep the line from running off." She paused, then continued bitterly, "That's in the daytime. At night the lines of slaves're undone and each is sent to a bunk in the compound –"

"Compound?" Lin cut in sharply. "Is that the holding place?"

Anilrae curled her lip, her black eyes locked on the flames. "Aye. It's at the farthest tip of the peninsula; they knocked down the buildings there and erected this huge ring of tree trunks. They must have scoured the forest to find trees that big; it's taller than three squirrels standing on each others shoulders, with the upright ends sharpened into points. Then there're other trunks inside the ring; they support a tight mesh of sturdy wooden poles, too closely spaced to crawl through.

"Around the outside of the wall, a head more than an otter's height below the top of the wall, is a platform. It runs all the way around, with two ladders, one on each side, being the only way up or down. Four guards are always stationed up there, with peepholes down into the compound. Another guard is posted on another platform looking toward the sea. Then there's a sentry down by the double doors, which are the only way in or out of the compound.

"Inside the compound are a series of cells. Well, we call them cells, but they have no roofs. Each cell wall has three bunks, two upon two upon two, just far enough apart for the beasts on the lower bunks not to bash their heads when they sit upright. The lowest ones are really only the ground with a little bit of straw and maybe a scrap of blanket. In the center of each cell is a sturdy post with four rings driven into it. To each ring is fastened six chains, long enough to reach each wall with a little bit of remaining slack. These chains aren't thick, but they're strong; there's a young badger slave who's unable to break any of them, though he's tried."

"A badger?" Lin's mind was racing. Her Salamandastron friends might be interested in this; Shorelad had once mentioned Lady Melesme was ever on the alert for a successor.

Anilrae nodded. "Aye, Vunroq. Such a sweet young creature, no more than twelve seasons; he's been a slave all his life. Anyway, at night when the slaves are brought in each one is fastened to a chain. We're fed in the cell – the cell's post serves as a kind of central feeding point – and we're allowed to choose our own bunks; the vermin don't care who sleeps were."

"How did you escape?" Lin pressed. She noticed Dilnrae giving her an indignant look – doubtless he didn't like her stirring up Anilrae's bad memories – but the squirrelmaid pursued the topic, knowing how crucial knowledge of it was to her mission.

Anilrae studied the manacle on her wrist. "One day they had me and my line working at the forge, feeding fuel on the fire, tidying up, and whatnot. The running chain's plenty long, so we could move around the place with ease even though the running chain was fastened to a post. Anyhow, I was sweeping out a corner when I found a rusty old file. It must have been brought in to be repaired and somehow got dropped and forgotten. It was dull, and the handle was almost gone, but it was a file. I hid it inside my tunic. That night, after the vermin had gone and the other slaves were asleep, I began cutting my chain, the one attached to the manacle, right on the last link. I didn't get very far before I had to sleep, so I wrapped the file in a scrap of linen and again hid it in my tunic. Then I carefully rubbed a pinch of grit into the slit I'd made in the chain to keep it from being noticed.

"The next three nights were occupied in the same way; on the last of these nights – four altogether, counting the first one – I finished cutting the chain. I'd found a piece of strong, thin twine and a sturdy sliver of wood, which I tied to the broken chain link in case that point got tugged on, so it wouldn't slip off. Then I waited. I couldn't escape the compound – it's too well guarded. I decided to try the next day.

"Actually, it was three days until a good chance showed itself. We were out beyond the village, in a clearing close to that stream flowing into the rear of the bay, when our guard was called away by one of his mates for a nip of food, for it was high noontide. As soon as he was gone I tugged off the chain and scrambled up a tree. From there I made my way southwest, and a week later I bumped into one of our patrols. I've been here ever since."

"How many slaves have escaped?" Lin queried.

It was not Anilrae but Jome who answered. "No more than twoscore, and at least twenty of those were all caught. fourteen escapees have been picked up by us, eleven of which were squirrels. Five died, but the rest joined us."

Lin was puzzled. "Why were they mostly squirrels?"

"We squirrels can take to the trees and avoid pursuit because we leave no trail," replied Vezrel, the hunched, half-eared warrior. "Hedgehogs, mice, voles, and whatnot leave a trail. Otters stand a better chance, since they can take to the water, but we don't have a network of streams on this island; they have to come out sometime."

"Did any non-squirrels survive?"

"Only one, and you'll meet him on the morrow." Jome refused to say any more on the matter.

Out of the corner of her eye Lin saw Wrestt give a huge yawn, stifled in vain by a paw. She felt her throat tighten as she fought the desire to do the same. Anilrae's eyes were drooping. Dilnrae blinked, shook his head, and rose to his paws. "I dunno about you lot, but I'm off for some shuteye. G'night to ye." He nodded a farewell to the little group, gallantly holding out a paw to Anilrae. The sleepy maid took it without a murmur, letting him help her up. They faded into the night like twin wraiths. Lin couldn't resist a slight chuckle.

"Hm, I think two certain beasts are a little sweet on each other."

Jome chuckled as he gazed after the pair.. "Aye, 'tis pleasing to see, isn't it? Wish everything could be as simple and untroubled." He bowed his head somewhat ceremoniously to the remaining three squirrels about the fire. "Thankee for your advice and counsel, friends. Now go and get some rest; we have a big day tomorrow."

The fire before them was the only one burning now, the flames dying down to a bed of crimson embers. No squirrels were awake inside the enclosure; any visible were sprawled out on makeshift beds, fast asleep. Outside the fence could be seen the silhouette of one of the sentries on a low branch, a bow ready in his paw. Lin and Jome sat for a while in silence, not looking at each other, simply enjoying each other's presence after the long seasons of separation. Finally Jome spoke, his voice a quiet murmur.

"What's this Redwall place you spoke of like, Lin?"

The squirrelmaid gazed at the bed of glowing coals. "'Twas what I hope the land beyond Dark Forest gates is like," she said softly. "That place . . 'tis a place of peace. Aye, its stones are stained with blood, but that is the blood of those who have tried to conquer it. Evil will never prevail against such good; they were destined to fall before they rushed the walls."

Jome looked at his sister with new eyes. She had changed in those five seasons, changed into a creature with a vast range of experiences and a deeper understanding of the paradox of life. "Do you wish to return there once this is over?"

His sister's eyes never left the red coals. "I'm not sure, Jome. I'm not sure. Aye, I loved it there, the creatures were the best I could ever hope to meet, it was a haven of safety . . . but . . ."

"But what?"

"I'm not sure where my heart rests, Jome. I love Redwall, love it like I've never loved any place before, but . . . It's like I have some kind of connection to this island, one that won't let me live anywhere else." She shifted her position, as if the very thought were making her uncomfortable. "I – I don't know how to put it into words."

"I think I know what you mean." Jome continued to watch his sister's face; he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rising as he stared hard at her eyes. Such . . . such ferocity there . . . it was a little frightening. He blinked, and for an instant he thought he saw another female squirrel, an older version of Lin but with the same face and the same fire in her eyes, standing behind the squirrelmaid. He blinked again, and the shadow was gone. What tricks tiredness and firelight could play with one's imagination!

He yawned, stretching. "Oooonnnh, I'm tired! It must be almost midnight; time for us to bed down." He rose slowly. "There's a spare corner in the cave I share, Lin; d'you want to join us?"

His sister remained where she was, shaking her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'd rather stay out here under the stars; I like to feel the open air around me on a night like this." She smiled up at Jome, her eyes and teeth flashing in the glowing light of the embers. "Besides, someone has to watch these coals. Anyhow, I don't feel like sleeping quite yet."

Jome shrugged. "Suit yourself." He hesitated. "I haven't thanked you yet, Lin."

The maid looked up, surprised. "What for?"

"For bringing this army to help us. I've been hoping and praying for something of the sort to happen for ages, but . . . well, I've been losing hope in it ever happening."

Lin reached out and squeezed his paw. "Don't you worry about a thing, everything's in better paws."

Something about his sister's tone of voice told Jome she knew more about what she meant than he would ever understand. Squeezing her paw back, he slipped away into the darkness. Pausing at the cave mouth, he looked back. Lin was still sitting in the same place, silhouetted against the light from the fire, seemingly at one with the night around her. Jome felt himself relax for the first time in as long as he could remember. The duties of leadership were finally out of his paws, and the new bearer was one he knew would do the job well . . . and fully.

* * *

_Yah, yah, yah, filler, filler, filler. NOT! There was a TON of important stuff in there, so stop y'whining and look for it. Hah hah, and I've got some plans with a few of the new characters, too!_

_Well, what're ya waitin' for? Review! You should, after that wonderful gift of THREE new chapters! XP_

_God bless!_

_Foeseeker_

_P.S. For those who have been reading this story strait from the beginning, or have an excellent memory, yes, I have used the names Dilnrae, Bannaru (one of the Volkendian foxes), and Vittonae (another Volkendian fox) in past chapters for three previous characters. These are all chapters I am going to get rid of and now consider void and nonexistent. So just pretend I never had them in there. Thankee!_


	49. The Playwright's Pen

_48: The Playwright's Pen_

Jome watched curiously from a distance as Lin spoke privately with three Volkendian vermin and four sparrows. The three vermin were outfitted like Groomyer's hordebeasts and each toted a haversack; one – the pine marten, Zarmon – possessed the addition of a long black cloak with a hood. The sparrows, the smallest of those in the Volkendian force, bore no trappings save small pouches slung around their necks and over one wing. The young Tarentian squirrel was mystified as to what interest Lin could have with this group.

The squirrelmaid finally shook paws with each member of the little band and they, with murmured farewells, vanished into the woodlands. Lin gazed after then for a moment, then headed up the trail where Jome intercepted her. "What were you doing? Where are they –"

Smiling, Lin held up a paw. "Hold on, hold on! I'll explain. Rapp and Dijorn – that's the rat and the weasel – are going to slip into the horde and spy out the lay of the land; I've told them to relay to me any information that may in any way be of use."

"But how'll they get it to you?" Jome queried, unable to contain his curiosity as they ambled towards the anchored Volkendian-Foeseker fleet.

His sister kept her eyes forward. "Every night they'll slip out into the woodlands to give their reports to Zarmon; he'll be hiding in the trees just beyond the village. He'll write down the new information and head inland to a predetermined place that they're going to choose as they march. There the sparrows will meet him and he'll give them the written reports – they're not going to orally relay it because they might forget something and some of it's probably going to be maps. Then they fly it back here."

Jome frowned; something was bothering him. "But if the vermin shoot down the sparrows and find the reports, they'll know someone's spying on them."

Lin lifted an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea?"

Her twin had to admit he didn't and asked, "Why is Zarmon not spying too? If he went in there'd be three spies instead of two and we'd possibly get more information."

"Well, from what I've heard there're no pine martens in the horde, so he'd stand out, but he can slip around unnoticed at night. I'm hoping he'll be able to do some undercover . . . sabotage, shall we say, when the time is right."

Something in his sister's tone told Jome not to ask any more questions at present. They walked on in silence, and it was not until they reached the stream mouth were the fleet was anchored did another word pass the lips of either.

When the creatures aboard the ships disembarked four days before they had taken with them the immediate essentials and some extra foodstuffs. However, a goodly amount of tools and edibles were still aboard and these were unloaded as the need for them presented itself.

Takora, Bannaru the fox, and half a dozen others were busy about the _Heron_. A small pile of items – mostly hammers, chisels, mallets, and similar tools – was already heaped on the shore. The group was carefully lowering a crate of what appeared to be scrap metal over the ship's rail as Lin and Jome passed. The twins paused to watch with interest. Jome was curious. "I didn't know there was a smith among your party."

The squirrelmaid twitched her tail. "Aye, Bannaru's a smith, but I didn't know he brought his whole shop along. I thought he left his extra metal and most of those tools back at – look out!"

The rope fastened about the heavy crate had suddenly slipped, and the bulk of wood and metal plummeted downward. The creatures aboard the ship caught it before it hit the ground but were unable to halt it completely before it landed. Takora had seen it coming and tried to get out of the way, but a tree root snagged on his footpaw and he fell. The crate, halted but stretching to the ground on the slight elastic spring of the grass rope, smashed down on his footpaw. There was a sickening crunch and the hedgehog let out a scream that came out as a rush of air.

Everybeast on the shore came running. Lin and Jome, being among the closest, were some of the first ones on the scene. The squirrelmaid winced at the sight of the footpaw, twisted oddly and bent at an angle. However, her brother didn't bother to waste time gawking; he immediately dropped to the ground beside Takora and began barking orders. "Somebeast, get a stretcher – make one, I don't care. Hurry!" Yanking off his tunic, he spoke to Lin without looking up. "Soak this in the stream and bring it back here; wring it out but keep it good and wet." He waved a paw at the crowd pressing in on all sides. "Back off, you puddenheads, he needs air! Back off!"

Lin hurried to obey him, twisting the tunic about in the water to extract any air bubbles. Another light twist – this time above water – stripped it of most of the excess liquid, and she passed it quickly back to her brother. He took it with a brief nod of thanks and carefully placed it on Takora's injured footpaw. The hedgehog was gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, biting his lip so hard that his chin showed a streak of crimson. As the squirrelmaid stepped back she saw that he was digging his claws into the soil of the streambank.

Jome ran his clawtips lightly across Takora's footpaw, feeling the contours and watching the hedgehog's reaction to contact with different points. He nodded shrewdly. "It's broken clean through in at least two places, possibly more. I'll splint it but you'll be off it for a season at least; those're the worst breaks I've ever seen."

Takora closed his eyes and groaned. "So I can't do me share in the fight?"

Jome shook his head sternly. "Not in a hundred seasons, and you won't be doing any more work around camp, either." He gave the footpaw an experimental tweak to the left, but that proved to be a mistake; the hedgehog yelped with pain and went limp. The young Tarentian checked his patient's pulse. "He's out cold, and will be for a while." He looked up at the onlookers who, disregarding his previous commands, had stood about gaping. "Try and find something for a stretcher, will you? Come on, make yourselves useful!"

With Lin organizing and Jome urging on, a frame of saplings and spears with a couple cloaks thrown over it was quickly constructed, and strong paws lifted the unconscious hedgehog onto the makeshift stretcher. Two otters hefted it easily and they, with Lin and Jome and a number of others in tow, started up the trail leading to the Volkendian camp.

As they marched it was Lin's turn to question. "What was that all about, Jome? Do you know how to heal?"

"Some things, yes." Her brother shrugged. "I'm no warrior – never will be. I hate to fight and I'm not good at it, besides. Taringlon's been teaching Anilrae and I the art of healing."

Lin spoke no more, contemplating, as they marched, the irony that was she and her brother. Warrior and healer, leader and bystander, quester and peace-seeker. What a pair they made. One would think they did not share a drop of the same blood, so different were they, and yet they shared a kinship closer than even their birth-blood – a kinship of a lifelong bond, a bond strengthened by suffering, endurance, separation, and faith.

At the Volkendian-Foeseeker camp Takora was taken immediately to his tent. Jome was joined by another healer, a hogmaid by the name of Quin, and they strictly forbade anybeast to enter the tent without permission. For some time they vanished into its interior, and it was not until the late forenoon that the pair emerged with what herbs, bandages, and healer's essentials they had not used. Lin, who had been impatiently awaiting the conclusion of their task, jumped up and made as if to enter the tent. Jome blocked her path. "He's sleeping now, and will until early afternoon. One of us will call you when he comes around; he'll want to talk to you."

††

"I won't be joinin' ye in the attack, if'n ye haven't 'eard," was the first thing Takora said when Lin ducked into his tent some hours later. The big hedgehog's footpaw was swathed with bandages pulled tightly about it. From the ridgepole of the tent Jome and Quin had hung a band of linen and into this band Takora's bandaged footpaw had been placed, suspended several pawlengths in the air to reduce swelling. As Lin entered her view of his face was merely two dark brown eyes and a mass of headspikes protruding over the toe of the bandaged footpaw, so she was forced to hide a smile as she replied.

"That's just as well, sir; I needed somebeast to stay behind in case things go wrong and the remaining creatures need to retreat, and you were one of my first choices for the task. Mother Nature finalized my decision."

Takora snorted and lay back, staring at the ceiling. "Hah! I'm sure 'tis an honor, miz Lin, quite sure. But wot're t'be me duties, lame as I am?"

Lin seated herself on a spare blanket, resting her chin on her paws. "Well, if'n you choose a few good deputies you can be the brains of the operation and they'll carry your orders to wherever they're supposed to go."

The aging hedgehog shot her an odd look. "An' wot if'n ye an' yer group fail, or 're captured? Then wot 'appens to us back 'ere?"

"Use your head," the squirrelmaid shrugged. "I don't know what the situation might be like; there're a thousand things that could change the way the problem should be solved. Just don't get yourselves killed or captured, and make sure the Tarentian families are safe."

Takora tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but as more pressure was applied to his footpaw he winced and lay back again. "Have you thought out 'ow ye're goin' to actually execute this attack?"

Lin stared quizzically at him. "I've got most of the main bits in place; why?"

His answer startled her. "I've been thinkin' about it, too. Listen; ye've got a good force, but yer enemy has the greater one. Use surprise; a night attack can't go wrong if'n it's done properly. An' attack from all sides – confuse the vermin, send in random missiles so they lose 'eart."

The squirrelmaid held up a paw. "Wait, wait, slow down! The village is on a peninsula; it's impossible to attack from all sides!"

The hedgehog grinned craftily. "Skipper Ruglar an' 'is cousin Grawn're of Shell'ound lines. Their gran'sire lived on an island t' the northwest o' Volkendo – Green Isle, if'n I remember correctly. Well, there's a legend o' a queen o' Green Isle usin' a great big raft in an attack on 'er enemies. Sailed right down the middle o' a lake, they did."

"So, you mean . . .?" Lin was staring hard at the earthen floor of the tent as if picturing what Takora was explaining. He nodded.

"Precisely."

"So how is this attack executed?"

Takora hitched himself up on his pillow. "Ye do it like this . . ."

††

"Caracaska bread, a wedge o; cheese, carrots, nuts, an' apples, a flask o' water, oatcakes – d'ye think we have enough?"

"Aye, we do; the _Rose_ brought enough vittles to feed a regiment for a season. Just manage the stuff like a good beast, will you, Deynul?"

The young otter scratched his rudder. "Methinks I'm goin' t' need some 'elp. 'Ow 'bout that family o' squirrels, wotstheirnames, Pakrin, Tingree, and Jukkil? They're good, capable beasts, an' they're not goin' t' be trapeezin' about with ye an' yer crew t'night, so they don't need t' look t' their tackle."

Lin twirled her brush, thinking. "Pakrin, Tingree, and Jukkil? Hmm, I suppose that'd work. Aye, go and fetch them and bring them down to the supply dump by the ships; I'll alert my crew to come and pack up for the march."

The two went their separate ways down the network of trails winding its way through the woods, Deynul to the Tarentian camp and Lin to the Volkendian-Foeseeker camp. It was at this latter that those creatures preparing to move out at dusk were gathered, making last-minute adjustments to their weapons, patching tunics and cloaks, participating in the general chatter.

The squirrelmaid had instituted beforehand a messenger system; instead of calling the whole assembly's attention she spoke to a score of creatures and sent them out amidst the throng, confident they would spread the news and the news would spread again by the mouths of the recipients. And she was not mistaken. She had been in the camp a few scarce minutes when a group of squirrels and otters disappeared down the trail to the boats. As the minutes and hours passed more creatures trickled down the little dirt track to fill their haversacks with what traveling rations would be needed.

Lin had packed her haversack in advance, for she wanted these last hours open for anything that called for her attention. She saw to the loading of three of the fleet's ships – _Eye of the Night, Meteor,_ and _Bronzewave_ – with all manner of strange items most commanders-in-chief would have thought ludicrous to take into battle. Then the matter of the sparrow messengers had to be dealt with, and the sentries and guards who were to patrol the area during the absence of the main army needed their assignments checked. Later, after the midday meal, the squirrelmaid and Ruglar closeted themselves in the cabin of one of the ships, deep in conversation with large rolls of parchment spread on the cabin table. When they emerged the otter chieftain had an odd look on his face – "irritated smugness," as one witness dubbed it.

As the squirrelmaid was heading towards her tent to grab something, Jome suddenly intercepted her. Lin had to smile at her brother; his face had that same cheerful expression yet furrowed brow for which she remembered him so well. "What is it?"

Jome grabbed her paws tightly in his, surprising his sister with the amount of pressure he applied. "Lin, you've got to come back safe. You've got to!"

Lin tried to free her paws but was unable to do so. "I certainly plan on doing just that, Jome, but why the insistence?"

Her twin squeezed her paws even tighter. "You wouldn't understand – not right now, at least. You will soon. Just trust me; you've _got_ to come back. It's more than just me wanting you back here safe – there's something else, but I can't explain it. Just trust me and do it." He paused for breath, looked away, then turned back with his eyes blazing in their intensity. "Promise. Please?"

Lin shook her head. "Jome, this is war; I can't promise anything except that I'll try my very best to get back here alive and in one piece."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Yes."

Lin couldn't say any more because Jome suddenly grabbed her in a tight bear hug, squeezing the air out of her. Startled but glad, she squeezed back. She barely heard her brother murmuring into her shoulder, "I've missed you."

"So've I," the squirrelmaid whispered with what little air she had left.

As unexpectedly as he'd hugged her, Jome released her. They locked eyes again, still gripping each other's paws. "Good luck in the attack," he said soberly. "May good fortune go with you –"

He sounded as if he was going to continue, but instead of speaking on he stopped abruptly, tuned on his heel, and disappeared amid the tents, leaving his twin staring after him with a warm yet slightly puzzled eyes.

††

The sun had just risen, its reflection shimmering on the ocean in a blazing path of crimson, purple, and gold. A light breeze was blowing from the north, stirring the leaves of the trees surrounding the Tarentian and Volkendian-Foeseeker camps. The air was sweet and fresh, weather perfect for an overland march. The footpaws of many a creature were stirring with an eagerness to be on the move; the air was awake and calling.

Five hundred creatures – all the Foeseeker squirrels, most of the Tarentians, A contingent of hedgehogs, and a few others – stood at readiness just north of the Tarentian camp. Each creature carried a full haversack slung across his shoulder and strapped to that a rolled-up cloak of thick, warm material. Every warrior present bore some kind of weapon, and what a variety there was: slings, bows, javelins, spears, and short blades amid the Tarentians; all manner of dangerous-looking armaments hefted in the capable paws of the Foeseekers; clubs, maces, throwing spears, and war hammers among the hedgehogs; and a staggering array of blades and casting missiles among the remainder, consisting mostly of otters armed with slings and javelins and Volkendian vermin bearing cutlasses and knives. It was a jovial air that filled the surrounding forest, yet the creatures themselves were the very definition of a warlike manifestation. These were warriors, eager and ready for battle, prepared to fight to the bitter end for the cause for which they took up arms – freedom.

Slightly apart from the five hundred stood a small knot of other creatures, mostly squirrels but also including an otter and a hedgehog. Lin was giving a final briefing to her officers. Takora – leaning heavily on a pair of crutches constructed for him – was to be in charge of those who remained behind at the camps, with Jome as his assistant. Tam and Slarave were accompanying Lin with the main army in the overland march. Ruglar and Foremole Grundee's representative, Yurgo, with most of their creatures and part of the hedgehogs, were sailing around the eastern coast of the island by night to carry the more unwieldy of the army's arsenal to the planned site of attack.

The discussion among the officers lasted only a few minutes. Then the group broke with heartfelt farewells and hearty pawshakes to disperse to their respective contingents. The assembled column standing in readiness shifted their positions, breaking into smaller groups. Every twoscore and five creatures fell into five ranks of five with their unit captain in the center of the front rank. Lin, Tam, and Slarave made their way to the front of the column, the Foeseeker leader carrying the battle standard constructed by several Tarentian squirrels. It was in the shape of a pennant and displayed a field of white surrounded by a yellow border. The center depicted a black arrow and a leafy green branch crossed atop a blazing flame. This flag was fixed to the business end of a long spear, which Slarave toted easily against one shoulder.

Lin saluted Ruglar, who – with Takora and Jome – was standing off to one side. The big sea otter, keyed up by the excited thrill in the air, waved his double-pointed javelin over his head, roaring, "March t' victory, mates! March t' victory!"

A loud cheer went up from everybeast present, many waving their own weapons in the air. Somebeast yelled for a marching song and one of the Foeseekers obliged with a rousing melody which seemed to quite contradict the rough-and-tough attitude of many of that tribe. Lin felt herself squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin proudly as the tune was picked up by more and more voices until everybeast was singing. They moved off into the woods, the squirrelmaid blowing her brother a kiss, and he – looking quite overcome by the events of the morning – responded in like manner.

It takes a warrior bold  
To win the hard-fought fight  
Against the daunting odds  
From dawn to dark'ning night  
With naught but simple courage  
And sweet liberty in sight:  
We will keep marching on

Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
We will keep marching on

We all have lost close comrades  
In the battles of the past  
'Tis true, we've mourned them long  
But our sorrows cannot last  
Proudly we remember them  
And fight like they would've asked:  
We will keep marching on

Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
We will keep marching on

When the battle is all done  
And we march back home  
We will hang up our swords  
To till the earth an' loam  
But we are ever ready to  
Defend the young an' grown:  
We will keep marching on

Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
Freedom, freedom, so dear to me  
We will keep marching on

* * *

_That song at the end was set to the tune of "Glory, Glory Hallelujah." I was nervous about doing a song because a couple of my older ones weren't very good, so please tell me what you think of it._

_I TRIED to make this chapter good. I TRIED. I really didn't like it all that much – it really seemed to scream "filler" and felt disjointed. However, I wanted to put that one bit with Takora in because I didn't want him participating in the attack. That bit with Lin and Jome was truly filler content; I wanted to extend that segment of the chapter and since Jome is the worry-ish type . . . sorta . . . and he hasn't shown any worry about Lin, and it seemed appropriate . . . I have a reason for him acting in that particular way, so yes, he does have a good excuse for being a worrywart._

_Oh yeah, there was some time-jumping; the first two parts were four days after the fleet landed. Yes, spies have been sent out, but I decided to leave out their reports until a more opportune time (they have been reporting during the remainder of the chapter). The third part was about two weeks after the first two sections, and the fourth bit was the morning of the next day. I don't think that was very clear, just specifying (and making notes for myself for later. C-__;)_

_Action starts SOON. I PROMISE._

_Foe_


	50. This Ain't No Rehearsal

_49: This Ain't No Rehearsal_

Slarave frowned, pointing to the map. "But if'n we're up here we'll have half a day spent marching to get there. And we're going to be marching at night. Lin, I give you credit for a fantastic strategy, but that site is simply too far away. That is, unless we begin marching a couple hours sooner than you're planning. We need to add some buffer for accidents and unforeseen obstacles; besides, we'll want plenty of time to set up the lines once we get there."

A scowling Lin stared at the crude drawing of Tarenta's northeastern quarter. "I suppose so, but we'll have to make sure there're no vermin about when we do start to move. If that last march begins while the sun is still up there's a good chance a few of the enemy will be about."

Tam, sitting beside the two black squirrels, touched the hilt of Martin's sword, which hung from its scabbard at his side. "If'n yer fox friend can make his move just after midnight we should be there in time to support 'em if'n anythin' goes wrong. Besides, Ruglar an' Yurgo've already anchored in that cove Wrestt spoke of an'll be in position by the time we arrive."

"Speaking of being in places, isn't it dangerous to be leaving such an obvious trail?" Slarave cut in.

The Borderer shook his head. "'Tis impossible to cover the tracks o' five hundred. We've been marchin' fer two days an' marchin' hard; I don't think Groomyer's creatures've found the trail, because if'n they had they'd try to find the creatures makin' the tracks. Besides, even if they have found our trail they'd defend their town before headin' out to capture our base, so we're settin' our gamble on hittin' the vermin before they hit us."

Lin couldn't resist a playful dig at her friend. "And what do you know about gambling, Tam?"

The red squirrel grinned at her. "Oh, I was quite a wild 'un in me younger days, missie!"

One of the Foeseeker squirrels came racing up. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir an' marms, but there's a couple scouts in – sparrows. Say they're from Zarmon an' Ruglar."

Tam nodded to the messenger. "Thankee, Thrann. Have 'em sent here, will ye?"

Thrann saluted. "Yessir!"

Slarave shook her head as Thrann leapt into the nearest tree and vanished amidst the foliage. "He should be practicing his archery. What's he doing here?"

Lin yawned, stretching footpaws weary from hard marching. "I told him t' take it easy; he was hitting the center of the mark each time at every distance within fifty paces." She paused, hesitating to broach her next idea. "I was thinking about asking him to organize a sniper crew."

Slarave narrowed her eyes. "What in the name of seasons . . .?"

Lin toyed with the tip of her brush. "Quite simple, ye see; they'll be in the trees, right on the forest fringe. Anilrae said that Groomyer's had all trees cleared within a furlong of the village so there's a distinct line and a no-man's-land, but you knew that. Anyway, I was thinking about putting the crack shots with bow, sling, or javelin up in the trees, or have them go up there when the vermin get too close." She paused, then continued a bit more hesitantly, "I'm certain this is going to end with paw-to-paw combat, so if we can get some good shots up where they can –"

Tam cut her sternly off. "Only a fool'd tell his creatures to shoot in the direction of their own. A shot could go awry; all kinds o' things can happen in battle 'twixt the moment o' fire an' the actual strike o' the missile. The otters'll take care of any sniper shootin', but even they won't be firin' in the direction of allies."

Slarave threw in her two cents. "'Twill serve ye better to have the elite bowbeasts, slingers, and whatnot commanding lines of others of their wartrade. They'll know better'n any when to – oh, here they are."

She waved in two sparrows, a male and a female, both looking a bit irritated. The pair settled themselves before the larger – the male – began. "Why you not come to sparra scouts? We fly longa way, tired; bring 'portant news."

Lin apologized. "Sorry, Tirring, we weren't thinking. Anyhow, there's the map here, so you two can show us the positions of the others and what their plans are."

The female – a fierce creature with a constant scowl who answered to the name of Flin – ruffled her feathers indignantly. "There nothin' 'bout positions ye dinna know, Linsquirrel. I bring 'portant news from Zarmon-marten."

Tam leaned forward. "Zarmon? What's happened?"

Flin smiled self-satisfactorily. "Garethfox meet 'im, make a deal. He help get slaves out 'um compound, but need Zarmon help, an' other spies." She pulled a rolled-up parchment out of her messenger's pouch and dropped it before the three squirrels. "Thisa from 'Zarmon-marten, tell of plan. He say must decide quickyfast, 'cause need to be done tonight. Will happen 'fore Linsquirrel an' others get there." She settled her wings, indicating that the interview was finished and she was awaiting orders.

Tam snatched up the parchment roll, breaking open the string seal and rapidly scanning through the letter, his brow etched in a frown. Lin and Slarave, both eager to see the letter's contents, sat in impatient silence until the squirrelmaid could contain herself no longer. "What's it say?"

The Redwaller shook his head. "Zarmon says that Gareth plans t' sail two o' the vermin ships out with a few cohorts just beyond the point at dusk t'night on the pretext o' fishin'. When 'tis quiet in the village Zarmon'll slip in an' kill the compound guards; Gareth's other vermin allies'll take their places in case anybeast wakes up durin' the night. Then a ladder'll be put over the rear wall o' the compound on the inside, an' the slaves, who Gareth'll have unchained beforehand, will climb up the ladder t' that deck Anilrae told us about – ye know, the guard deck around the outside o' the compound. From there they'll head down the fixed ladder t' the ground."

Slarave tapped her footpaw impatiently. "But what in the name o' fur does the ship have to do with it, an' how're they goin' to get out o' the village?"

Tam held up a paw. "I was just comin' t' that. Maybe half o' Ruglar's otters'll be in the water t' swim the slaves out to the ship. Since the ships'll be supposedly 'fishin'' there'll be a net over the side of each an' the slaves'll either climb up the net or get hauled up. When they're all aboard –"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lin held up her paws. "We were told there're about five hundred slaves in there; How in seasons are they all going to fit on two ships?"

Slarave had an odd look on her face. "They're goin' to use the holds, right?"

"How did you know?" Tam stared at her incredulously.

"Just a guess," Slarave smirked. "Carry on."

"Since they're not goin' t' be carryin' any cargo, the holds'll be empty." Tam said this for Lin's benefit, who was frankly puzzled by Slarave's remark. "Some of the slaves'll go in those. It'll still be a tight squeeze, but they'll be in there for no more'n a half hour at most. Gareth's goin' t' take them up the coast to just past the northern harbor point, where they'll disembark an' wait for a messenger to give them the all-clear."

There was a moment of silence, during which the three squirrels stared at each other. Then Lin smote her paw upon the ground. "Healers! We need to send healers for the slaves!"

Slarave looked puzzled. "What d'ye mean? We're goin' to need all the healers we can get with our army come dawn!"

Tam shook his head. "She's right. The slaves'll be in bad condition. If'n two or three healers can be on the beach when Gareth's ships arrive, the worst o' the slaves can be patched up before they get taken back t' the main camp."

After a moment's thought, the Foeseeker leader reluctantly agreed. "All right, you win. We have ten healers with us, an' there're fifteen with Ruglar's crew, so . . . three?"

Lin nodded decisively. "Anilrae, Kodra, and Drook. If they leave in the next hour they should be there with plenty of time to spare." She checked off the three squirrels on her paws. "Anilrae's a Tarentian; she knows the lay of the land. Kodra's an excellent healer, quite fast too. Drook probably knows any captive Volkendians among the slaves, so he'll be of great help with them."

Slarave prodded the map with a claw. "They'll need to be on the lookout for vermin, and they need to take some kind of arms."

Tam reassured her. "Everybeast, warrior or healer, was required to carry at least a dagger when we marched. I know most healers have some kind o' knife fer cutting bandages an' whatnot; I'm sure they're no different."

"Anilrae uses a sling," Lin chimed in. "But three squirrels – especially experienced ones – know how not to attract attention. They'll do just fine."

Flin cleared her throat and all three squirrels jumped; they had almost forgotten the presence of the two scouts. Lin grinned sheepishly. "Flin, tell Zarmon he has permission to go through with his plan. And stay with him; when the slaves have left the village you'll need to come back to give us the all-clear to attack."

The sparrow dipped her head once, straitening the strap of her messenger's pouch. "I go, tella Zarmon-marten plan good, can do."

She vanished amidst a flurry of wings. Slarave was already firing a series of rapid questions at Tirring, the other sparrow. Apparently satisfied by his answers she turned to her two companions. "He says Ruglar an' his crew are in position in the hidden inlet. Once it's dark the otters'll take to the water an' the others'll meet us overland at the southwestern clearing."

Tam glanced at Tirring. "Do they have the rafts?"

Tirring fluffed his feathers. "Aye, they gorra eight of 'em. Five small tree trunks tied t'gether each – ye saw 'em back at camp. Why d'ya wanna know?"

The Redwaller leaned back against the hickory under which he was sitting, stroking his brush pensively. "Lin told 'em t' slip the rafts' ropes an' let 'em go if'n they were pursued by vermin." He stretched. "So, seems like our plan is safe so far, eh?"

The squirrelmaid had a grim look on her face. "There's half a day between now and the attack. Anything can happen."

††

"Back, back, left, forward, swing down!"

_Crack! Thud!_

The hedgehog sat up ruefully, rubbing his back. "Seasons, Oakfur, gimme a chance, will ye!"

The young Foeseeker squirrel grinned as he helped the hedgehog up. "Ye've gotta keep your guard up, Partil, or you'll end up injured or dead. I got ye that time 'cause ye were watching my staff. Watch me instead, pay attention to my body language. A good stavemaster can tell what his opponent's next move'll be from his eyes, paws, shoulders, even his paces." He lifted his hardwood hickory staff, holding it horizontally in both paws level with his shoulders. "C'mon, have another go. Remember, watch me and not the –"

_Crack! Whump!_

This time it was Oakfur who was felled by a blow from his opponent's staff. Grinning wryly, he sat up, running his claws gingerly across several very sore ribs. "I guess I was asking for that one, wasn't I?"

Shaking with laughter, Partil hauled him upright. "Hohohoho! Remember, mate, that surprise is the best weapon of all!"

Oakfur leaned against a tree. "Ooooh, by the seasons that hurts!" He slowly sank down into a sitting position, eyes closed as he carefully felt his aching side. Partil, growing concerned, leaned over him.

"Ye all right, mate?"

The young squirrel opened one eye, which was dancing with mischief. "What do ye think, ye great lump of a hedgepig!"

Partil straitened, shaking his head even as a wry smile crept across his face. "An' ye're a bumblin' brushtail! D'ye want me to go fetch somebeast to take care o' that –"

Oakfur cut him off with a wave of his paw. "I'll be fine, sticklespines, just give me a few mintues!" He craned his neck to look up at the hedgehog. "I've been doing this for a while – another knock's not gonna put me down!"

His former opponent and student toyed with his staff, licking his lips. "If'n ye don't mind I'm goin' t' go grab a nip o' vittles. I 'aven't 'ad much t'day."

The young squirrel chuckled, closing his eyes again. "Go ahead, y'ole scoffbag! Meet me back here in ten minutes and we'll pick up where we left off."

With a mischievious smirk, Partil saluted. "Yessir, back 'ere in ten minutes, sir!"

"Oh, begone with ye!" Oakfur, eyes still closed, swatted in the direction of his friend. Partil dodged easily and scampered off, chortling. The young Foeseeker squirrel stretched out languidly under the spreading alder, enjoying the feeling of sunlight dappling him with a pattern of light and shadow. The low hum of the camp was a short ways off into the trees and the immediate surroundings were as peaceful as a placid woodland could be. Even the thought of possible vermin patrols didn't concern the young squirrel; if there was danger about, why would the grasshoppers still be rasping out their calls or the butterflies still be meandering their way through the trees?

Of a sudden Oakfur became aware of voices. Opening his eyes – though he made no other movement – he scanned the forest visible to him. Two figures were visible through the stems of a bramble thicket which separated the young Foeseeker from a little woodland glade. Oakfur relaxed; they were black squirrels – Tarentians, if he was to judge by their speech, a male and a female. He leaned forward to listen, puzzled; why were they away from camp if they weren't doing battle practice?

". . . to go with Kodra and Drook to meet the slaves. Lin says they'll probably need our assistance, at least the ones in the worst condition."

"Take care of yourself, Anilrae." Oakfur saw the taller of the pair – the male – slip a protective paw about the female's shoulders.

"I'm only going to heal," Anilrae replied with a slight laugh. "I'm not going to be in any danger. What's the worry, Dilnrae?"

"We're all in danger," Dilnrae replied gravely. "This whole venture is dangerous."

"There's something about your tone I don't like." Anilrae sounded suddenly very serious.

"Anilrae." Dilnrae suddenly faced her squarely, paws on her shoulders; Oakfur, watching through the bushes, thought he saw fear in the young Tarentian's eyes. "Anilrae, this is war. There's danger everywhere – for everybeast. By rights neither of us should be alive after all we've been through; promise me you won't take any risks."

"I promise." Anilrae lifted his left paw from her shoulder, holding it fondly. "Dilnrae, don't worry; I'll be fine." She looked up at him, his greater height forcing her to tip her chin. "You're the one who'll be on the battleground; make sure you hold up your end of the bargain."

He seemed to smile. "And what's that?"

Anilrae grinned. "To promise to me that you'll keep yourself safe." She held up his paw, grasped in hers. "Promise?"

"A-hem." Dilnrae looked awkwardly down at his footpaws. "I – ah, I need to ask you something – important."

"What is it? Don't you promise?" Anilrae looked worried, both her paws now gripping his left.

"I – I –" Dilnrae was fishing about in a pouch on his cord belt. "I do, but . . . I need to find something first . . ."

"Why? What d'you want to ask me?" Anilrae was clearly puzzled. Oakfur couldn't resist a small smile at the two of them; what a funny picture they made, the perplexed pair of them!

Dilnrae finally seemed to locate that for which he was searching, and for a moment relief filled his eyes. It was almost immediately quashed by a flood of panic as he freed his left paw from hers. "Anilrae, I . . . I –"

"What is it?" The squirrelmaid's eyes were filled with concern. "What's wrong?"

The young Tarentian stiffened; Oakfur could hear his long intake of breath even from where he sat on the far side of the thicket. Then Dilnrae abruptly dropped to one knee, lifted Anilrae's left paw in his right, and said, in a voice which trembled with what was – most probably – fear:

"Ke thran ta crechek lil sodrey,  
Ta tikonik pronhal da rakkan joo chiwrek?"

Oakfur was utterly bewildered by this outpouring of apparent gibberish, but Anilrae's face broke into a wide, happy smile – though her black eyes seemed glassy – and replied in like manner:

"Pikarrae mokra takrar jik rookul  
Ta tarre qekonikasae fyneen!"

Eyes shining, Dilnrae opened his left paw to reveal a slim circle of silver set with a small emerald and two river pearls. This he slipped onto Anilrae's left paw. "There's no need to say it in our own tongue, is there?"

The maid began laughing as he sprang to his paws and, grabbing her by the waist, swung her in a circle. "No, there isn't!" Giggling as he released her, Anilrae began spinning dreamily about the glade. "When'll it be?"

"How about early autumn?" Dilnrae caught her as she whirled by him and spun her, their clasped paws lifting over her head before she was brought to a laughing halt by his firm grasp.

"Early autumn? 'Tis the early part that I like!" Anilrae began laughing anew as Dilnrae twirled her back in, catching her and leaning her down, his strong paws clasped firmly about her shoulders and waist.

Oakfur sat back, sweat prickling his forehead and the back of his neck. _Great seasons . . . I just witnessed their engagement!_ He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as his thoughts raced. _Those funny-sounding words . . . they must be part of some kind of Tarentian engagement tradition. And . . . and they came here for privacy. If they ever found out I was eavesdropping, they'll . . . they'll . . ._ Scrambling to his paws, he stumbled away, being careful not to reveal himself to the lovers. _This is awful! Awful! I'll never be able to face either of them as long as I live! They went to that glade to get away from everybeast . . . and I watched the whole thing . . . why, why, WHY did I have to do that?_

"Watch where you're going!"

Startled, Oakfur skidded to a halt and found himself staring into the puzzled face of Kodra, a pretty young maid and healer of the Foeseeker tribe. He had quite nearly walked strait into her in his distracted state. The young squirrel made a flustered – and vain – attempt to collect himself and his dignity. "Oh! I . . . er . . . I – sorry for that, didn't mean to!"

Kodra grinned at him. "No problem. What happened? Ye look like ye've seen a ghost!"

Oakfur began stammering as he tried to get out of the situation. "I . . . uh . . . I fell asleep an' I . . . I had a bad dream, I think."

"Ye think?" Kodra gave him an odd look. Oakfur took a step back and promptly tripped over a tree root, falling on his staff which he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. Kodra burst into peals of laughter and helped him up. "Hahaha! Ye should've seen your face just then, mate! Ye looked like a hedgehog who'd swallowed a sour apple! Hahahahahahaha!"

A big, solemn-faced squirrel with tan fur rose from his seat on a fallen tree. "Beggin' yer pardon, miz Kodra, but we need t' git goin'. Where's Anilrae?"

Kodra struggled to get her mirth under control. "She's – hahahaha, erm hem! – beg pardon, She's coming. Said she needed to talk to somebeast an' would be with us in a moment. Oh, Oakfur, this is Drook, one of the Volkendian squirrels."

Oakfur shook paws with Drook, noting with astonishment the power in the healer's grip. Drook caught the younger squirrel's look of surprise and gave a half-smile. "That's wot comes from pullin' an oar fer fifteen seasons."

Oakfur stared at the heavily callused paws. "Were you an oarslave, sir?"

Again the big squirrel gave a small smile. "No need fer the 'sir,' Drook'll do jus' fine. Aye, 'twas born a slave an' escaped in a wreck on Volkendo nigh on eight seasons ago." His smile faded as he mournfully studied the scars on his paws. "'Twill be a fine thing t'be helpin' others escape like I did."

The young Foeseeker remembered what Anilrae had said; that she, Kodra, and Drook were going to meet the slaves and give them treatment. _This must mean so much more to him than any of us can imagine . . ._

His thoughts were interrupted by Anilrae. The Tarentian maid came waltzing down the slope to join them, completely oblivious to everything except her own bliss. Behind her, heading in the opposite direction, Oakfur caught a glimpse Dilnrae. The other squirrel kept looking back over his shoulder at his betrothed. The young Foeseeker felt himself go hot again, remembering how he'd unintentionally intruded on their private moment.

Kodra caught Anilrae by the paws as the other maid swept by. The Foeseeker was puzzled as to her friend's behavior. "Anilrae, we've got to go. Where's yer pack? And yer knife?"

Anilrae seemed to come out of her thoughts with a jolt. "Oh! I – oh, they're over there behind that bush. I put them there before Dilnrae took me down the trail."

Kodra leaned over and hooked the pack out of its hiding place, her impatience beginning to break through. "Got 'em. C'mon, we've got to get moving! What was so important that he needed to talk about, anyway?"

Anilrae's smile was like another sunrise. She blushed and lowered her eyes as she murmured, "He – he proposed to me."

Kodra gasped, her excited voice almost a squeal. "He _did!_ What did you say?"

Oakfur wondered if Anilrae would recite again those lines of apparent gibberish, but the Tarentian maid merely lifted her shining eyes. "Yes."

Kodra threw her arms around the other maid, bursting out with a stream of incoherent questions and giggles. Oakfur and Drook exchanged looks. Both were thinking the same thing; _Maids . . . they're so . . . strange!_

It was another five minutes before the three healers could finally get underway. Drook – in the few words typical of his personality – instructed the maids to stifle their chatter until a more opportune time, for they needed to travel silently. With a nod to Oakfur the taciturn squirrel leapt upward into a massive beech tree and vanished. Anilrae and Kodra followed suit, leaving the young Foeseeker standing in the middle of the forest, gazing at the leaf-covered spot where they'd disappeared.

It was the voice of Partil that roused him. The hedgehog came wandering down the slope, his staff in one paw and the core of an apple in the other. Upon spotting his instructor he waved his staff, yelling, "Ahoy, mate, are ye comin' t' finish the practice 'r nay?"

Oakfur jumped and whirled around. "Ah – oh, Partil, it's ye!" He blinked, looking down at the half-forgotten hickory stave in his paw. "Oh – uh, aye, I'm coming."

††

Darkness had fallen. The moon was not visible this night, wrapped in dark blue-black clouds that rolled and boiled like bubbling oil. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, foreboding and warning of a storm. The wind – what there was – could perhaps stir a blade of grass into lazy motion; the puff of clammy air would cause a beast to shudder and unconsciously rub his fur to rid himself of that moist, unrelenting grip. Paws shifted restlessly, creatures paced ceaselessly. Eyes watched the sky, gazes were riveted on the surrounding banks and trees. That calm which proceeds a violent storm had come upon the three ships, enfolding the warriors in its merciless embrace.

Only one creature aboard the trio of vessels refrained from pacing and trying to rid himself of the foreboding atmosphere. Skipper Ruglar had his eyes fixed to the skies, watching for the shadow of his faithful messengers. Any moment now and the first stage of the attack would be under way. Beside him, Foremole Grundee's representative, Yurgo, shifted his gaze nervously from the sky to the trees. "Stan' on moi tunnel, zurr, but if'n yon spurrows don't 'urry up we'll all be nervousifoied out o' our senses, burr aye!"

The big otter tapped his rudder on the deck. "I know, matey, but I can't move without the go-ahead. A premature attack could be our doom."

Yurgo twitched his snout. "Oi know, but nobeast says Oi can't say wot Oi bees a'thinken'!"

Ruglar did not answer; his keen eyes had caught movement. A moment later he was stepping back to allow Tirring ample landing space. The sparrow fluttered for a moment, stretching out his footclaws in anticipation of the drop, then folded his wings and landed with a light plop on the wooden timbers of the deck.

Skipper Ruglar immediately fired a query at the sparrow. "Has Lin started movin'?"

Tirring straitened a skewed feather on his breast. "Aye, Linsquirrel leave just afore dusk, say they move mucha fast, be here liddle afta midnight."

Yurgo counted off the hours on his formidable digging claws. "One, two three, four hours afore they get yurr. We'm leavin' in two hours then, Ruglur, zurr?"

The big otter twirled his rudder thoughtfully. "Aye, make sure ye head fer the clearin' just be'ind the line, not the line itself. Tirring, 'll ye stay with 'em t' make sure they go t' the right place?"

Tirring puffed himself up importantly. "I do! I stay with Yurmole, show 'im way!"

Hiding a smile at the sparrow's mispronunciation of Yurgo's name – though, in truth, it was not difficult to conceal his features in the dark – Ruglar nodded to the sparrow. "Thankee, mate. An' now all we need is word from Flin – oh, 'ere she is!"

The little female sparrow, breathless from her swift flight, dropped to the deck. "Zarmon-marten says t' 'urry, slaves gettin' out muchsoon! Otters swim, meet slaves – ships already there!"

"Many thanks t' ye, friend!" Ruglar called to her as he headed for the rail. Emitting a low bark he arced over the gunwale and hit the water with the smallest of splashes. On the three ships all the otters barring about ten followed suit, vanishing over the railing and joining their Skipper in the dark waters. A detachment of the sleek-furred beasts made their way to the sterns of the ships, where were tied eight rafts constructed of small tree trunks and loaded with oddly-shaped bundles. Ropes bound about the logs of the rafts were grasped in the powerful jaws of the otters, two ropes to a raft and two or three otters to each rope, and with these burdens the cavalcade made its way out of the hidden inlet. Close to half the otters strapped their slings tightly about their waists and took off at top speed into the murky depths; these were the crew selected to assist the slaves. The other half took their time, dragging the loaded rafts along with them, pacing themselves; many had a long way to swim.

Yurgo and the two sparrows watched them over the stern of their ship. The mole shook his head as he tried to pick out the black silhouettes of the otters against the inky surface of the dead-calm sea. "Oi dearly 'opes we'll be able to foind our way to the clearin', boi okey Oi do!"

Flin stretched her wings. "I gorra get back to Zarmon-marten, ready to bring word when attack can go."

Tirring watched her flexing her muscles, warming up for another sprint-speed flight. "We see you lata, makeum sure norra seen!"

"I not be seen!" Flin chirped confidently, flapping into the air.

Yurgo clacked his digging claws against the rail. "Well here we'm a'goin'!"

* * *

_Yeeeehaa! Action! Action at last! Well, the first bit of action; don't worry, this is only the prelude. C-: Did this make up for the last chapter?_

_Personally I thought that proposal scene was hysterical – I mean, not the proposition itself but Oakfur's unintentional eavesdropping. No, he had no idea what was going on. Don't blame him that he heard. XP Besides, it made for a great scene. I've been wanting to do that ever since I first introduced those two a couple chapters back. I was planning to do it right before the battle – on the battlefield and everything – but that just didn't seem quite . . . fitting. (:-D Couldn't resist giving you guys that little tidbit of info!) I also wanted another scene from Oakfur's point of view; I've been getting the feeling that he's just a side character with a larger role than most in the story and I wanted to give him some screen time. Besides, he's fun to write – I like him._

_I will give you the translation to those funny phrases Anilrae and Dilnrae (no, the almost identical names were not intentional) were using later. Yes, I have translations._

_I dare you to say both those gibberish phrases five times fast. Bet'cha can't even do one! XP_

_Anyhow . . ._

_Many thanks to Scyphi, who was the only person to review my last chapter before the posting of these two. (I didn't realize I hadn't posted "The Playwright's Pen" before I started working on this chapter – we went on vacation)._

_~Foeseeker_

_P.S. I've said this once, I've said it a thousand times (I think), but I want to say it again; my revised version of this story will have much more action in early chapters, more focus (and an actual plot) on Tarenta, some extra backstory to the Tarentians, and a lot more – a LOT more – besides. I'm determined to finish the "first draft" so I can have an actual foundation for the entire story and build off it. So hang in there!_

_P.P.S. Many thanks to warrior4 and Jade TeaLeaf, whose writings (__A Mask and a Song__ by warrior4 and __The Chains That Bind Us__ by Jade TeaLeaf) inspired the proposal scene._

_P.P.P.S. If you can tell me what Dilnrae is when unscrambled I'll give you a spoiler, either for the end of this story or something that's going to be added in the "revised edition." To qualify you must tell me what it is by the posting of the next chapter (PM me so no one else can cheat off your review! And review, too! C-:). And no, MTW, you can't. Besides, you already know the whole story._


	51. And the Curtain Rises

_50: . . . And the Curtain Rises_

Tam slipped silently through the darkness, heading for the center of the lines. To his left he could see the very faint silhouettes of the archers standing in three ranks; behind them were the javelin throwers, hefting their flat wooden thrusters in preparation for the command. Behind him, also to his left, was the end of the archer and javelin thrower ranks and the low-lying group of slingers, ready for their signal. Though he couldn't see the faces of the fighters Tam knew what he'd find there if he could; determination, fear, anger, apprehension, resolve. He himself was feeling a queer mixture of all five – a familiar feeling to the seasoned warrior.

As he moved through the trees, however, the Borderer began to find the silence unbearable. The air was oppressively humid, pressing in from all sides; it heralded a mighty storm. Not a cricket chirped, not a star shone. What little light there was came from the dull glow of embers in the little houses of the village, where Groomyer's forces lay sleeping. Every creature in the Tarentian lines made no sound; true, they had been commanded to silence lest their position be betrayed, but in the thick air and the crackling tension everybeast seemed to even be breathing more lightly. It was unnerving. Tam felt his neckfur begin to rise as he forced himself to shut out the awful silence.

He finally dropped from the trees to join Lin. The squirrelmaid was girded for war in her own style, her outfit simple but fitting. A brown tunic, fitting closely but not so close as to press against the skin, was belted with a white cord. Her axe hung at her left side from its chain across her opposite shoulder, gleaming even in the smallness of any light present. She stood about twenty paces from each of the spear and blade units, which were positioned behind the javelin throwers and were to charge forward once Groomyer's forces drew close enough. She was alone in the darkness and Tam almost missed her due to her likeness to a shadow as she stood unmoving against an oak trunk. He espied her when she spoke, her voice hardly more than a breath of wind through grass.

"Is everybeast in position?"

"Aye," replied the Redwaller, joining her. "They're ready for the signal and – ye're trembling?"

"Aye," whispered the squirrelmaid, relieved that the darkness hid the fear on her face. "Tam – I've never been in a battle before. When Groomyer attacked . . . Mama stood in front of me the entire time; I never even struck one of the enemy a blow with my open paw. And now I'm – I'm leading an army . . ."

Tam sensed his young friend trying to control herself. "Lin, ye're a brave beast – one o' the bravest I've ever met. Ye can do this. 'Twill not be easy, but think of it as – think of it as a game, an' ye're competin' for the prize. 'Tis a dangerous game – a deadly one. Ye can do it."

He stood watching her for several moments, sensing her inner turmoil. When she spoke again, however, it was with a tone he'd never heard her use before. It sent chills up his spine. "There will be more games to fight, methinks. This is only the beginning." She straitened up, squaring her shoulders. "They're awaiting the signal?"

"Aye." Tam watched her, unsure what this new change might mean. "They're waitin' on yer call." He handed the squirrelmaid a queerly shaped horn of polished maple wood. Lin took it, feeling for the mouthpiece, for it was so dark she couldn't find it by sight. Locating it, she pressed it to her lips, hesitated a second, then blew.

A sound like a far-off owl hooting his cry to the night sky floated through the trees. To a passing observer of the night it would not have been a strange sound, but to those hidden among the trees it was the knell to begin the most chaotic night of their lives.

On both the eastern and western corners of the peninsula's base, a waiting otter plunged into the water and was lost to sight. In each of the same two locations another creature – an otter to the east, a hedgehog to the west – growled a short order to the score or so creatures under their command. Those creatures each picked up an object lying on the sand beside them.

††

The peaceful slumber of the hundreds of creatures in the village was rudely shattered by a resounding crash. It was followed in rapid succession by half a dozen others, one or two accompanied by cries of pain. Weasels, rats, ferrets, stoats, and foxes rushed out into the dark streets, blinking and struggling to collect their sleep-dazed senses. The quicker-minded beasts snatched up their weapons as they plunged outdoors; others staggered through the alleys, groggily questioning others as to what was happening. The crashes had settled into a steady rhythm, four or five striking every quarter minute or so. Each was accompanied by the sound of splintering timber and – quite often – screams.

Groomyer burst out of doors, his tunic hastily belted, his naked scimitar held at the ready in his right paw. He seized a hapless stoat by the neck, shaking him like a rag doll as he roared in the creature's face, "What's goin' on out here?"

"Wegghemarughh!"

With a grimace of disgust the warlord dropped his minion in a heap upon the path and wiped the creature's spittle from his face. The stoat writhed on the ground, nursing his bruised throat until the big grey fox again bellowed his question. His breath still raspy from his near-throttling, the stoat squinted up at the formidable silhouette above him. "Aaagh . . . somebeast's t'rowin' big stones at us, lord. T'ey're attackin' from the south, I t'ink. Big stones wid ropes on 'em – dunno how they're chuckin' 'em, lord!"

He was hauled upright by his tunic front. Groomyer gritted each word out through clenched fangs. "Go. Get. Gareth. Off. That. Ship. And. Over. Here. Now!"

He hurled the stoat from him, who scampered off into the darkness to do his master's bidding thankful he'd escaped with his life. Snarling under his breath, the big fox hurried towards the docks with the thought that he'd be able to get a good vantage point from the deck of one of the larger ships.

His hopes were dashed when a rat ran slap-bang into him. The creature, terrified when he saw into whom he had run, began jabbering frenziedly. "Lord, they're takin' the ships! All of 'em! From der docks! I saw 'em!"

For the second time in as many minutes Groomyer hauled the hordebeast up by the front of his tunic. "What! Stealing the ships?"

The rat, eyes rolling with terror, nodded as best he could with his tunic collar pulled taught against his chin. "Aye, they've pulled 'em out o' our reach, lord! We can't get at 'em! It's otters, lord!" Before Groomyer could react to this news the rat babbled on, petrified at the livid face of the big fox. "An' dere're more otters in der water, lord; dey're chuckin' stones an' spears at us! We can't get close ter der shore!"

"What!" Groomer was really enraged at this point, but worse was to come. The stoat whom he had apprehended minutes before came stampeding back through the milling hordebeasts. "Lord! Gareth's gone!"

That was enough. With a roar of fury the big fox sent his scimitar blade smashing into the side of the house that flanked the lane. Then he stormed off towards the front lines, bellowing, "The traitor! He's with 'em! Just wait 'till I get my claws on him, I'll skin him alive, all roast him in his own juice, I'll . . . I'll . . .!"

††

"Fire!"

Lin watched with grim satisfaction as the black lines that were javelins zipping off on their deadly missions. Ragnok, the captain of the javelin contingent, growled the order for the first rank to drop back and reload their throwers while the second rank stepped forward in preparation to fire. The squirrelmaid, standing close by, was focusing so much attention on the goings on to the front that she jumped when Slarave dropped out of the trees behind her. Lin shot the Foeseeker leader a look but did nothing more; of late Slarave had been behaving quite well and though she was rough she was not the sort to attack her allies on the battlefield.

The Foeseeker squirrel pawed at the handle of her favorite knife as she gazed towards the village. "They haven't charged yet?"

Lin shook her head. "No; by the sounds we think they're only just starting to pull themselves together. How're the otters doing?"

Slarave's white teeth – the only non-black part of her – flashed in the dull light as she smiled. "Perfect. The ships are safely out o' the vermin's reach an' the slingers're following their duck-an'-weave instructions; Rellen said they're causin' chaos. The javelin throwers're havin' the same effect; the vermin can't see 'em way out there in the dark on those rafts. Anyway, I don't think their weapons have that kind o' range. Those javelin throwers aren't very well known – a Northlands device, mostly. Ye said Groomyer's from the far south?"

"Aye; I picked the tidbit up when I was a slave." Lin kept her eyes in the direction of the enemy. "What're the archers up to?"

"Waitin' just a bit longer; they don't have quite the range o' the javelins, so they want to make sure the enemy are in location first." Her teeth glinted again. "The slingers're getting a bit antsy, but there isn't much they can do. Slings don't cast as far as javelins or bows."

"They'll get their chance." Lin ran a claw down the head of her axe, tracing its contours. Her gut felt as if somebeast had tied it into a knot and kept tugging on the free ends. It was not a pleasant feeling and the squirrelmaid knew it was an effect of her nervous apprehension.

Another squirrel suddenly came bounding from the trees to land almost on top of them. He hastily collected himself and, without bothering with the usual salute, burst out, "Fire! There's a fire in the village!"

"What?" Lin and Slarave were not the only beasts to utter the exclamation. Ragnok and one or two of the javelin throwers who had been eavesdropping spun about to stare at the messenger. Dilnrae ignored them as he continued with his rapid report. "Aye, a fire at the northern tip, one or two houses, just started, certain of it!"

"Where did ye see it?" Slarave demanded.

The Tarentian squirrel pointed upwards. "From the trees; I was stationed there as a member of the archer unit and –"

"Move," Lin barked. "We haven't got all night to chitchat!"

With a hasty salute Dilnrae scrambled up the nearest tree, Lin and Slarave speedily following. They did not go far; Dilnrae merely parted the tree branches and pointed. "There. Strait ahead."

It was unmistakable. At the far end of the peninsula, just to the south of the slave compound, a house was engulfed in dancing orange flames. The thatch of a neighboring building, ignited by drifting sparks, was merrily blazing. Two or three other houses were freshly lit but though they burned it was not with the gusto of the original pair. Because of the vast number of buildings between the burning houses and the three watchers they were unable to see what was occurring around the blazing structures.

Lin groaned at the sight of the flames. "Great seasons! This is going to put is in a pretty mess!"

Dilnrae frowned. "How so?"

The squirrelmaid glared angrily at the glowing fire. "That's going to spread and the vermin will come running at us to escape it; they have no other way out." She swiveled around to face the Tarentian squirrel. "Spread the word along the lines that anybeast approaching without obvious intent to attack is to be surrounded, disarmed – if he has a weapon – and taken behind the lines as a captive."

Dilnrae looked puzzled. "But they already have those instructions – to not attack beasts who don't attack us, I mean."

Lin shrugged. "Won't hurt to have it reinforced; besides, there's now a very good reason for Groomyer's creatures to be running towards us without the intention of attacking us, so there's a good chance of it happening. Besides, you might as well warn them about the fire; when we move in it's yet another thing to keep their eyes open for."

The Tarentian squirrel sighed. "Up and down the lines, otter messengers on each shore – got it." He leapt off into the foliage and disappeared from sight.

"Wonder how that started."

Lin turned to Slarave. "What?"

The Foeseeker leader gestured towards the blazing buildings far down the peninsula. "Wonder how those things caught fire. I mean, 'tis not like somebeast goes around lighting things on fire for the fun o' it."

The squirrelmaid shrugged. "Dunno how, really. Maybe somebeast knocked over a lantern on their way out of the house by mistake." She began making her way down the trunk of the tree. "Come on; let's get to our units."

Slarave blinked. "But we're not plannin' on attackin' until they come at us."

Lin paused in her decent. "Once they realize they can't put that fire out they'll make a charge at us. I don't know when they'll do it, but we'll need to be in position. Better early than never, eh?"

††

Groomyer was in a precarious situation. The dry summer had left the buildings and the surrounding area parched and vulnerable to flames, and the fury of the burning buildings could not be approached by anybeast due to the searing heat. The buckets of water which had been hurled at the inferno had done little to quench its wrath, and everybeast had finally retreated from the blaze back towards the woodland fringe. Creatures huddled in small knots in the center of the town, not daring to move to either side for fear of the slingstones and javelins which came rattling in at complete random and were almost unavoidable. To the south were the large boulders falling from the sky to smash down on building and beast alike. And to the north was the surest death of all – the raging, rapidly spreading fire.

Creatures had huddled into groups, muttering amongst themselves. Groomyer knew they were talking of rebellion; he could see it in their eyes, hear it in their tones. Weapons were much in evidence, but the big fox guessed by the looks of trepidation thrown his way that nobeast would quite dare challenge him. He had bested too many of their number for that. But mutiny was hot in the air, and if they rose up against him as a body he would not stand.

Groomyer's senses served him well. His battle-trained mind had been listening with half an ear to the regular crashes of flying boulders to the south. Of a sudden he caught a faltering in the pace; a beat had been missed. Then another pause broke the rhythm, and another. Within a minute the sounds had slowed and died away. The Tarentian forces had exhausted their supply of swingers.

This was the chance the warlord had been waiting for. His scimitar gleamed orange in the firelight as he stalked from one knot of creatures to another, growling words of command and encouragement to his faltering hordebeasts. The rank-and-file creatures took some persuading to remain subordinate to their leader, but the natural cunning of a fox and the roaring flames behind them gave impetus to their decision. The fear of the growing inferno rapidly outweighed their fear of the hidden enemy, and they chose the less sure death.

Groomyer began rapping out orders, sending some creatures to fetch stocked weapons. Those already in the possession of combat-worthy weapons were organized into groups by captains and sent south to engage the enemy. Word soon began returning that, though their adversaries hailed them with arrows, javelins, and slingstones and the otters in the water kept up their attack, the hordebeasts were able to hold a good account for themselves despite heavy losses. The two sides were rapidly closing the no-man-zone between the lines and it was only a matter of minutes before paw-to-paw combat ensued.

The only thing in the reports to ruffle the big fox's fur was that small knots of vermin kept slipping away from their units and into the enemy lines carrying scraps of white cloth. These groups, while few – at least for the moment – had been seen willingly laying down their arms and being escorted behind the woodlander lines as prisoners. This willing surrenders quite maddened Groomyer, but he forced himself to keep his volatile temper in check until a more satisfactory moment.

"Lord?"

The big grey fox turned to stare down at the much smaller weasel. "Yes, Grewn?"

Grewn fidgeted with the hem of his patched tunic; it was hard not to show nervousness under that angry gaze. "Lord, de lines're almost met; twoscore paces an' we'll be stickin' bades in 'em."

"Thankee, scout." Groomyer straitened his cloak, making sure his scimitar was ready for action. "Shall we go join the welcoming committee?"

He swept off down the lane, Grewn following him like a faithful dog. They were almost to the combat zone when a deathly silence fell.

††

Lin stood at the center of the front rank, two paces in front of the beasts who flanked her on each side. Like the rest of her creatures her weapon was at the ready, but she was not yet fighting. Behind her she heard the next rank stepping up to position, following their comrades who had emerged from the trees a short moment before. Each one was silent, blade or bow ready for action, facing the enemy lines.

The vermin, for their part, didn't know what to make of this sudden appearance of the enemy from the shadows of the trees. Up until this point in the battle both sides had been using cast weaponry to attack; as such, combatants had not been able to glimpse properly those they were fighting. The sudden materialization of the woodlanders, armed and silent, from the forest was slightly unnerving to the vermin. They too fell quiet, falling back from the enemy.

Groomyer forced his way to the front of his lines. He allowed himself a pause, letting his gaze sweep the line of beasts before him. All were well armed, whether with blade, bow, or spear. Some looked fearful, others grim. Those scarred veterans that there were appeared to be almost exclusively squirrels; the most prominent of these was a mere maid, standing a pace or two in front of the first rank. From her position in the lines, her confident carriage, Groomyer guessed that this was the woodlander's leader. Something about her haunted him; she seemed so familiar . . .

The maid broke his thoughts with a harsh command. "If you surrender, we will not bring you further harm. We will let you go your way in peace."

Groomyer snorted; a mere maid challenging the Ruthless one! And with a force less than half his number! "We'll surrender to ye when autumn leaves turn blue!" he sneered. "Go an' watch the babes, squirrelmaid!"

Her eyes flickered with anger but she held her ground. "I tell you again and for the last time; if you surrender, we will not attack you. But if you continue to fight, we will spare nobeast of your numbers."

For answer, Groomyer spat in the squirrelmaid's direction. "Enough of this," he snarled to his hordebeasts. The first breath of hot wind to herald the nearness of the approaching storm stirred his fur like air wafting from the depths of hell. The stirring rippled through the ranks of woodlander and vermin alike, the first breath of a wild beast about to be unleashed. The white light of a lightning bolt on the horizon blended with the red and orange flow of the inferno upon the flashing blade of Groomyer's scimitar as he roared his command.

"Attack!"

* * *

_Urgh. I really didn't intend to cut it there; the battle was supposed to take place in one chapter. I changed my mind 1) because that was such a cool-sounding cliffhanger, 2) because it would have been sad to pack all the action into one chapter, and 3) if I had done that it would have been long. REALLY long. Okay, I'm exaggerating a tad. A TAD. I also didn't intend to have that to be so chopped up – meaning so much jumping between hero and villain. It just worked that way._

_ANYway . . . Wow. I've been reading too much Kel-work, haven't I? Need to work on those digress lines._

_Oh, out of curiosity, how was the mood setting for that chapter? (Meaning, I was aiming for nervous, fearful, dark, battle-y. Did I succeed? 'Cause I'm not sure . . .)_

_About my writing schedule: I am aiming for an hour of writing time per night. This means that, on an ordinary weekday, I slave through my homework, eat dinner, help with cleaning the kitchen, and then come upstairs, flop down on the floor (yes, I do my work on my laptop while lying on my stomach on the floor), and work on this story. How fast I write depends on amount of writer's block and my own finicky-ness (sometimes I don't like a perfectly good section of a chapter and I must needs totally re-write it, though it usually comes out much better). Beginnings are my particular nitpick; if the beginning's not perfect, the whole thing isn't perfect. So, in short, updates depend on homework, writer's block, and life._

_On a completely unrelated topic: I have begun work on __Silenced__! No, I have not begun writing it again; I have begun the plot sequence planning (of which, until a month ago, I had no idea except for two major points). An inspiration from the newspaper of all places started me off, and I've just kept going. I've got it pretty well finished now; it comes after this story._

_I have also collected half a dozen bullet points or so on a new chapter story, currently unnamed. I have no plotline, only characters and their backgrounds (which has NEVER happened before; in the past I've always started with a plot and gone on to characters). I've got a very, very, VERY rough idea of what's going to happen, but as of now nothing is planned to come of it. And I really need to wrap up these random notes, so . . ._

_God bless!_

_Foeseeker_

_P.S. Could someone please tell me if a sea otter and a river otter can reproduce? I need to know the answer to this question to plan out a minor plot point in the re-write of __Foeseeker,__ but I can't find the answer anywhere._

_P.P.S. If you guys have any rough ideas for oneshots of any sort (must be appropriate, preferably not extremely romance-y) and don't plan to use them for writing of your own, would be so kind as to send the idea to me? I'm hoping to begin a collection of oneshots soon as a break from my main work (see details on my profile) and I have 5 – 6 ideas. However, it would be nice to have some extras, no?_


	52. The Flames of War

_51: The Flames of War_

Lin was never able to recall many details of that battle. It blurred together in her mind; dodging spears, ducking lances, parrying swords, blocking maces, the exchange of blows, blood being drawn, pain, screams, roars, shouts, cries. The Tarentian lines had met Groomyer's charging beasts, blade clashing upon blade as the sides closed with each other. Though a momentary attempt was made to hold their formation, the woodlanders were forced to break into smaller groups as the vermin's larger numbers battered against them. A few squirrel archers, still hidden in the trees, sent down arrows into the enemy when the opportunity presented itself, but the vast majority of Lin's creatures were engaged in the bloody conflict upon the night-draped battlefield, lit eerily by the dancing flames of the burning village.

And a bloody conflict it was. Lin smashed her way through a pair of rats to join a Foeseeker squirrel, only to see a weasel cut him down with a pike thrust to the neck. Moments later a hedgehog and a mole fell before the squirrelmaid could reach them. A blow to the back of her shoulder sent Lin sprawling face down, and she had barely time to roll over before the hulking stoat swung his mace at her. The squirrelmaid wrenched herself to one side, feeling one of the club's spikes tear a furrow across her arm. The pain didn't register; she slewed herself sideways, swinging her axe. He screeched as the keen edge made contact with his leg, just above the ankle, and he went down.

Time blurred; fur, blades, teeth, and eyes swirled together in a blue-black void streaked with orange and crimson. Lin knew nothing clearly, only the ring of metal clashing upon metal and the cries and sounds of battle. She later recalled vaguely woodlanders fighting around her, beside her, with her, moving elsewhere amid the chaos or falling under the enemy's onslaught. No faces materialized out of the void, only silhouettes and the blue-blackness streaked with crimson and the fiery glow of the burning village.

She was brought to her senses by a voice shouting her name. Captain Nauctus was in fine form, his claymore bedaubed with the gore of battle. The grizzled Foeseeker's black eyes burned with the madness of battle; his warrior blood was up and the old campaigner was out to prove the truth of his surname. As his gaze met that of his young commander he bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and saluted her with his crimson-stained blade. "Ye're a braw warrior, lassie! Ye do honor tae us!"

Lin looked down at her axe. For the first time she realized that its appearance bore little difference to the Captain's blade. It seemed to mock her, all smeared with red. A wave of nausea made her head reel. What was she doing here, the daughter of a peace-loving merchant? A gentle maid she'd been raised to be, yet a savage warrior she'd become. Wasn't that just spitting upon principle, upon upbringing, upon family?

Yet her mother had fought . . . and her mother had triumphed.

Her mother had been a warrior.

Captain Nauctus spoke again, and Lin snapped her head up. Hardly a breath of time had passed; her thoughts had slowed the world to her. The old veteran was twirling his blade in a flourish as he called to her, "Come an' fight wi' me! Come an' fight wi' a Foeseeker!"

The squirrelmaid's teeth flashed in the firelight as she silently accepted the challenge. Back to back the two black-furred squirrels hacked their way through the melee, claymore and axe matching each other stroke for parry, blow for swing. Leering faces thrust themselves forward only to be extinguished by one or the other of the weapons. Their wielders sucked in great breaths of air, their ears ringing with the pounding of their own blood as adrenaline coursed through their veins. Each took wounds as well as gave; Lin received a cut to the paw and a deep gash across her cheek, while Nauctus took a spear in his hip and was forced to slacken his onslaught. His squirrelmaid companion turned to see what was wrong and the cool foam of an incoming wave, barely more than a ripple about their paws that high up the beach, washed around them; they had fought their way to the western edge of the peninsula.

Two ferrets and a rat suddenly crashed into them, sending Nauctus sprawling and Lin stumbling further into the surf. The rat and one of the ferrets turned their attention to the squirrelmaid while the other ferret took on the Captain. The injured squirrel, downed or not, was still a match for any vermin. A lifetime of fighting backed his thrusts as he dueled frantically with his enemy.

Lin had lost her axe in the initial impact; it lay just beyond her reach, almost at the footpaws of the rat. Unsure of what to do she went into a wrestling crouch. Her uncertainty must have showed in her eyes, for the ferret and the rat seemed to gain confidence as they advanced.

There was a roaring sound behind her, and the two vermin suddenly yelped with fright and took to their heels. Turning, the squirrelmaid beheld the fury-masked face of Skipper Ruglar backed by threescore of his otters. The otter chieftain didn't seem to notice Lin; he hurtled past her and smashed into the nearest of the enemy, dealing savage blows right and left with his sling, half a shattered javelin, and his powerful rudder. His crew followed him, glistening sleekly in the firelight, water still dripping from their sodden pelts.

Lin had turned to watch them in a kind of stupefied awe, unaware of her gaping mouth or her weaponless paws. They fought like no other creatures on the battlefield, the otters. Their foes fled, screaming, before their grim faces, before their whirling tools of death. With sling, with javelin, with their bare paws, they threw themselves into the fray, and those enemies they ran down were shown neither quarter nor mercy; no living vermin was left in their wake.

The squirrelmaid was still staring after the otter crew, unaware of the scarcity of time that had elapsed between their attack and the present moment, when a fresh band of the enemy arrived to reinforce the party whose ranks the otters had already greatly thinned. The newcomers formed a semicircle of spears, pikes, and javelins, hemming the otters in on three sides. Ruglar and his creatures fought like madbeasts, but inch by inch the wall of weaponry forced them back towards the water. Their wild charge had turned into a hard-pressed onslaught, in which a coordinated retreat seemed, to Lin, to be the only wise conduct.

Ruglar had other ideas.

He and two of his otters suddenly bulled forward, dropping into summersaults and cannoning into the legs of the unsuspecting rank of spear-carriers. Several vermin were knocked aside or flattened, and as chaos spread through the foe the otters poured into the gap. Ruglar and the two otters who had accompanied him – Grawn, his nephew, and a river otter named Shungro – had risen and joined their crewmates in savagely dealing out blows with their slings to the enemy, hard-pressed as they were.

The cries of battle brought Lin back to her senses. She dove for her axe, lying almost forgotten some half dozen paces from her, and was encouraged by the sight of Captain Nauctus standing erect despite the wound on his hip. Confident that he was all right, at least for the time being, the squirrelmaid joined the otters and took a position between the ottermaid Runlea and another whom she didn't recognize.

One of the strangest things Lin found in that battle was the natural ease of talk, even when death blows were being parried and dealt and blood was dampening the ground beneath the paws of friend and foe alike. She and Runlea, as they struck and were struck at, took up a stream of easy conversation.

"A fine night fer vermin t' die, eh?" the ottermaid remarked with a twirl of the sling that ended with savage impact against an enemy's body.

Lin's axe, reflecting the flickering light, was smudged with sticky crimson as she found a mark on the swordpaw of a foe. "No night is a fine night for death."

"Ye're right there." Runlea dodged a spear even as she spoke. "But better an enemy's death than one o' our own!"

"And who're our own?" Even now, with sides taken and lots cast, the squirrelmaid's deep roots of generations of peace cried out for a voice even as her warrior blood roared in her ears.

"Our own?" Her otter friend paused for a brief moment, adjusting the stone in her sling while the squirrelmaid covered her. "Our own're any who're fer us, I s'pose."

Lin sensed more than saw the ferret lunging at her with his spear. She sidestepped, feeling the pain only dully as the spearhead tore the flesh that covered her ribs. In the same moment the silver blade of her axe struck her opponent true. "What if some of these fighting us now're for us but fear their master too much to join us?"

"Then they're not completely fer us." Runlea was back to her death-dealing; the air whistled through the thongs of her sling as it blurred above her head. "If'n they really believed in our cause they wouldn't have t' fear Groomyer, 'cause they'd already've joined us."

A murmur ran through the group of otters. Runlea's face stiffened as the otter on her far side growled the message in her ear. Lin looked up at her friend. "What news?"

The river ottermaid's visage was like cold granite. "Skipper Ruglar is dead."

"What?" Lin was shocked into momentary inaction.

Runlea pushed her roughly aside, cracking the swordpaw of a rat who had tried to take advantage of the squirrelmaid's pause. "Don't stop fightin', whatever ye do!"

Lin obeyed the command automatically, still trying to take in the information of her ally's death. "What happened to the Skipper?"

Runlea was slow to answer; her attention was temporarily distracted by a battleaxe-wielding fox. Her sling proved an awkward defense against such a weapon, and Lin was forced to join her to vanquish the foe. The duel was a fierce one, for the fox was no fool, but the numbers of two to one were against the vermin and, with the otter on one side and the squirrel on the other he was rapidly dispatched.

Only after the fox was finished off and both woodlanders, breathing hard but not too much the worse for wear, had resumed their positions, did Lin repeat her question. "What happened to Ruglar?"

The ottermaid sighed. "A vermin got him in the flank with a spear. Vryth – Vryth said he went quickly." She shook her head, looking stunned.

"Who's Skipper now?" Lin couldn't resist the question, even when the late otter chieftain's death was only moments past.

"Grawn," Runlea answered promptly. "He 'twas always Ruglar's strong right paw, an' 'e's every bit as good a leader. Mebbe younger, but not by much; they 'twas almost brothers, and – yaarggh!"

Lin had turned back to face the fray, but when Runlea uttered that panicked snarl she turned to see what had happened.

A powerful blow to her back sent her sprawling. An impulse of whose origin she was not certain caused her to twist to one side, and a hissing _thunk_ sounded just behind her head. A growl of rage crackled above her, and Lin looked up to find herself staring at the fury-masked face of Groomyer.

For a terrifying heartbeat they froze there, warlord and squirrelmaid, eyes locked in a stare of pure hatred. Then the big fox let out a roar and tore his scimitar blade free of the sand where it had been imbedded after his first unsuccessful stab at the squirrelmaid. Lin squirmed backward, her paw closing around her axe's haft. Creatures scattered to get out of their way as the horde leader attacked the young woodlander with all his might. The squirrelmaid desperately parried the blows, seeking an opportunity to get out of her kneeling crouch.

Groomyer raised his blade high over his head for another swing. Lin threw herself sideways, bringing her axe around to trap the scimitar against the ground with its flat as her opponent brought his weapon down. The fox tried to yank his blade free, and with a quick spring that brought her to her paws Lin darted forward and sank her teeth into his right arm, just above the wrist.

Squirrels' teeth lack the murderous canines of a predator's mouth, but the four frontal incisors are dangerous nevertheless; long, sharp, and backed by a set of powerful muscles designed to crack the tough shells of nuts and to strip bark from the trunks of trees. When Lin clamped down on Groomyer's forearm it was like a knife cutting through fresh-baked fish. The warlord howled in pain as the squirrelmaid's teeth sank deep into his flesh, tearing through vein and muscle. Agony surged up through his body and he went into a series of short, reflexive jerks. But the squirrelmaid's mouth and nose, pressed against the wound, were filled with the blood pumping from the injury. She began to choke and was forced to loosen her hold to enable herself to suck in a gasp of air. In that moment of slack Groomyer was able to wrench himself free and he backed off snarling, blood dripping from the deep wound in his right arm.

They circled each other, each balanced lightly on their footpaws, ready to spring off at any angle. For several moments they did not attack directly but played about, their weapons flickering in deadly patterns of firelight on gleaming metal. Around them the nearby combat had halted; this duel of chieftains was both horribly fascinating and, in a way, would decide the outcome of the battle. The two combatants sensed this and sought closer upon each other's defenses, waiting for an opening, striving to catch the other off guard.

Lin blinked, trying to clear her vision. The firelight was getting stronger; it burned with an unusual red hue. She could feel her blood beginning to boil in a way that it only did when she was very, very angry. Her ears began to pound and all sound around her seemed to fade. Her concentration totally on Groomyer, nothing else seemed to appear in her vision; only a vagueness of blue-black overlaid with the red-orange of firelight. The squirrelmaid could feel the adrenaline pounding through her, stronger than ever, this battle with her sworn enemy stimulating her senses and muscles to hair-trigger readiness.

Of a sudden Groomyer snaked forward, then to the left, his blade flashing up towards the squirrelmaid's eyes. Lin spun into a half kneeling position, bringing her axe up to parry the blade. The scimitar grated across the axehead and the squirrelmaid ducked under her own upraised weapon, dancing backward to avoid a stab from the fox's blade. Groomyer lunged again, this time in a more controlled manner, and as Lin parried his blade he kicked out. She twisted sideways but was unable to fully avoid the blow, and his footpaw caught her hip. The squirrelmaid was thrown momentarily off balance and the big fox moved in for the kill. Lin dropped flat on her back – a risky move, she knew, but her best chance – and swung her axe. It connected jarringly with his thigh, but before she could rise he stabbed her right shoulder through to the bone.

No pain flooded through her – only rage. Lin could hear her blood roaring through her head, and the crimson that blotted her vision was now much more intense. Kicking him hard in the stomach, she felt Groomyer's pressure on the scimitar relax. She tore free, leaving a clump of fur and a bit of flesh still ensnared on its tip. Before the fox could recover she was on him, darting behind him, scoring his back from shoulder to waist with her weapon. He snarled with pain and turned to face her, only to see the red fire of total war shining hot in her eyes, her teeth bared with wild laughter. Here was a fighter, a warrior, one who was not afraid of death.

She lunged him again, and the fear-stricken fox brought up his scimitar to defend himself. Each of them cut in a dozen places, they fought on. The squirrelmaid had her wrist laid open, and the fox's ribs were sheared of a good double pawful of fur and flesh. Both the scimitar and the axe were bedaubed with the gore of battle, both of their metallic surfaces reflecting the growing conflagration behind the silent masses who watched with horror and fascination the duel to the death before them.

Then Lin, eyes alight with battle-fire, swung suddenly inward, axe at shoulder level, aiming for Groomyer's neck. He ducked under the weapon and came up behind his foe, turning to face her exposed back. The scimitar instantly was brought into play, whipping upward and sideways across her already-wounded ribs, and then strait down across the back of her skull.

The squirrelmaid stumbled heavily forward, but – to the terror of her enemy and despite the savage wound – recovered herself. Even as she turned the axe was hissing through the air, cutting an arc upward and sideways. Too late Groomyer saw that she was aiming for his head. He tried to duck, but he had barely begun the action when fox and axe connected.

Cries echoed through the onlookers as they beheld the warlord, now missing his entire left ear, collapse with the agony of the wound. Blood, pulsing from the highly sensitive and vein-filled area that had once been the base of the fox's ear, trickled into his face, obscuring his vision. His scimitar clattered from his grip and he clamped a paw over the wound, trying to staunch the crimson flow. Hate- and terror-filled eyes glowered up at the squirrelmaid, who stood over him with her weapon still at the ready.

"Who are ye?" demanded the fox.

"Myself," she answered clearly.

She seemed about to lift her axe for the killing blow, but somebeast grabbed her shoulder.

It was Oakfur.

The young squirrel trembled as his friend turned her crimson-lit gaze on him, but he held his ground. "Lin, please – there's been enough fighting. Let's just go home."

_This battle was for freedom, not for revenge, Lin. Let go._

The squirrelmaid stared past Oakfur at the shadowy form of the squirrel whom she had learned to call Ranguvar. _Let go of what?_

The black squirrel motioned to the kneeling fox._ It is not for hatred of one that a warrior fights, but for the love of many._

_What . . . ? _Lin suddenly remembered her rage directed toward Groomyer as they had fought, the one thought in her mind to slay this fox she despised so much. It had fueled her on, but it had burned her. She could still feel the fire pounding through her system at a painful intensity. Her blood roared in her ears, clouded her vision. Was this what Ranguvar meant . . . ? She shut her eyes, trying to calm the source of this heat.

Oakfur saw her grip her axe tighter and mistook it as his friend preparing to renew her attack. He grabbed her arm. "Lin, don't. If you kill him now you'll be as bad as he is."

The fire was changing back from its unnatural crimson hue to the normal orange glow that Lin had always seen amid the dancing flames of campfires. She lowered her axe, exhaling slowly, feeling her racing pulse calming to a steady beat. She was keenly aware of the scores of eyes around her, woodlander and vermin, watching her every move, but somehow she was undaunted by their stares. She was also aware of the still-kneeling Groomyer, his scimitar lying unheeded at his paws, glaring up at her with an air of defiance. A wave of loathing swept over her, and as quickly disappeared. He would never – could never – leader his horde again after this defeat. His name was now smeared with the black blot of a defeat by a woodlander maid. She turned away from him, letting her grip on the axe haft slacken. "Come on, Oakfur. He's not worth more trouble."

_Lin! Behind you!_

Lin spun around and her blood froze. Groomyer, with the speed of a snake, had snatched up his blade and was lunging Oakfur, his blade pointed directly at the young squirrel's chest. Oakfur, whose staff was far from an ideal position to defend himself, was barely taking in what was happening.

The squirrelmaid jumped forward in some half-planned attempt to get Oakfur out of the way of the blade. The two tumbled sideways, Oakfur receiving a deep furrow along his ribs from the scimitar.

Lin regained her balance and bore in for the kill, her axe up and ready. Groomyer swept his blade around, and Lin stiffened as it sank through tunic, skin, and flesh into the center of her chest. Her body convulsed and the fox withdrew his weapon with a satisfied smirk on his face. Through blood-clouded eyes over which a black mist was stealing, Lin saw him lower his blade. As another spasm racked her body she stumbled forward, and with a swing that sent a fresh wave of blood from the wounds to her shoulder and chest she forced the axe into his ribcage. Something gave beneath the black metal axehead and squirrelmaid and fox went down together, Lin on top, the blood of the two mortal foes mingling upon their breasts. Groomyer's eyes were wide as if already seeing Hellgates as he stared up at his slayer, whose clouded eyes burned with the scarlet flames of war.

"You – conquered – me!"

* * *

_Meh, I don't know why I'm not happy with this chapter, but I'm not. I mean, sure, it works and all, but something's . . . missing. Maybe because I'm comparing it with warrior4's action chapters, which even Brian Jacques has yet to top . . . not sure. Please give me some advice/critique/ideas/thoughts on this chapter, because I will be more than happy to use them when I revise this story._

_Gol-ly, was it hard not to go into gory detail in this thing! This was my first real battle chapter (and you can probably tell), but being a person not quite as fazed by blood as some . . . but this needs to be family-friendly, so I kept it as un-gruesome as possible. Not sure about how well I did with that during the duel, though . . ._

_Almost done, guys – ALMOST! By my own estimate there will be five chapters to follow this one, and then come revisions._

_I actually had this done a LONG time ago, but like I said I wasn't happy with it, so I kept stalling on posting it. And stalling. And stalling. And stalling. And finally I got fed up with stalling, so I posted it._

_A Very (belated) Merry Christmas and a happy new year! God bless!_

_Foeseeker_

_P.S. What with midterms coming up in two weeks, I'm guessing I won't be writing much. Just keep your eyes open, 'cause you never know when a chapter might show up!_


	53. A Different Kind of Battle

_52: A Different Kind of Battle_

_Through the darkness, through the black mist, I was only aware of one thing: pain. Pain more intense than I'd ever dreamed possible. It seemed to howl through my veins like liquid fire, radiating from my heart and searing every limb, every particle of my being. Pain. I had hurt before, but nothing like this – this felt as if my whole body was being plunged into scalding oil. Nails and claws seemed to come to life and went dancing on their wicked way across and around me. The living world had vanished, with its cooling rain and friendly faces, the assurance and comfort of the sunrise, the calm of the moonlit night, the soothing warmth of the fireside and comradeship. Gone. All gone. Burned away by the devouring pain._

* * *

A drop of clear liquid – he was unsure if it was rainwater or an unashamed tear – dripped from his whisker to the body of the squirrelmaid, lying still and unmoving on the stretcher. Her chest was covered with only a folded square of cloth perhaps as broad as his stave was long. At its center – just to the left of the maid's heart – was a large crimson stain, which crept slowly outward to spread its ugly claws over more unsoiled linen as further blood oozed out of the hidden wound to feed the hideous blot. The squirrelmaid's right arm was bandaged from the wrist to above the elbow, the bandaging hiding two clean but unsightly furrows made by the tip of her attacker's blade. Another wrapping was firmly bound about her shoulder, its tightness an attempt to slow the blood flowing from both ends of the laceration.

Another drop – this time he was sure it was a tear – fell from his face to soak the chest cloth of his friend as he leaned over to place a rag soaked in cool water on her brow. His paw, the black fur covering it hidden by a band of linen through which a splash of crimson showed, lingered there on her forehead for a heartbeat. Her face burned, burned despite the rain and the cool cloth. He bit his lip to stop the gnawing lump from escaping his throat. It hurt to watch a loved one in pain – it hurt so much. His gaze slowly slid from his friend's face, masked in false slumber, to the weeping sky, uncaring of the rain that found its way into his eyes and almost blinded him. _Father, Ranguvar, protect her, please. Please. She has so much more to do. Please don't let her die._

_Please._

* * *

_Slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, the pain was ebbing. In its place came a silent, relaxing peace. I felt the heat leaving me, replaced by a wonderful coolness that seemed to wash away the very sensation of blood and suffering. It filled my whole being – scented faintly of spring and sweet flowers, it seemed to call me on. Almost without consent or thought, I followed its silent call. Beyond this black mist was a place – a place where I would never feel pain again. I knew, and hoped, and moved toward it._

_The mist slowly turned from black to grey and from grey to silver. The sweet smell of springtime grew steadily stronger, as if the growing radiance bore with it the aroma of freshness and life. The light seemed to carry a vigor and strength, an eagerness. I could hardly remember the pain now – the light was too strong, too strong and glorious to allow room for thoughts of pain, too full of vitality to let suffering take any place in its presence._

_But there was no time for thought, for I was being drawn ever onward by that soundless, ceaseless call. My paws moved faster and faster until I was running across the earth – or stone or soil or mist or air, I neither knew nor heeded. All I knew was a bursting joy and a desire to reach my unknown destination that burned more painfully than any wound and more gloriously than any earthly happiness._

* * *

He trudged along with the rest of those fit for travel, his thoughts on his friend. Would she be all right? Would the healers be able to pull her through? She needed him – that he knew. And he needed her. Needed her more terribly than she would ever – could ever – know. Another flood of tears came and he struggled to keep them back. She wouldn't want him to cry over her pain. She would want him to enjoy the memories of their shared times together. He lifted his chin. He wouldn't think of her suffering; he would remember her courage in the battle now half a day past. She had fought like a Foeseeker, like the great Foeseekers, the queens. No warrior had outmatched her on the battlefield.

How he needed her now! Ever since they had met, she a young traveler with a quest and a dream, he a looked down-upon orphan lacking self-respect, she had shown him what he could be if he believed in himself. She had lifted him from downtrodden servitude to a rank alongside the great warriors of his tribe. He had found what it meant to be the best he could be – and she would never know. Not if . . . not if they couldn't save her . . .

He stared at his bandaged paw. Oh, if only he could take on her wounds, if it would save her life! _Ranguvar, please . . . please, keep her with us._

* * *

_The mist had parted, and between its ghostly curtains I now could see a pair of gates. The gates were quite large, almost as large as the main gates of Redwall Abbey, but of metal, not of wood. And such metal! Pure silver sparkled in the light from the sun beyond the mist, made with a skill that even badger lords cannot surpass; shapes, images, pictures, stories, all wrought with one of the most precious of metals. Swirls and elegant turns of the brilliant material were capped with gold; parts of the gates were crusted with diamonds, pearls, rubies, sapphires, and other costly gems. At the zenith of the gates were evenly spaced spires of bronze, beautifully made and glittering like so many polished horns. The sight was breathtaking, had I had any breath to take, and the grandeur was only increased as the mist slowly drew away further to reveal the wall into which the gate was set – a wall of white marble, with battlements of quartz and a foundation of granite. More jewels were set into the wall, and the gleaming stone and the glittering gems sparkled in the strengthening light._

_I stood and gazed up at the great gates in awe, quite bedazzled by their beauty. Nothing on earth could be as fantastic as those gates in the heavens, shining as if made of the sun, moon, and stars. As a weary pilgrim stands before the great cathedral that is his destination and pauses to revel in its breathtaking grandeur and magnificence, so I stood and drank in the awe-inspiring glory of the unearthly gates._

_And greater wonder was yet to come. As I took a pace in the direction of the gates, fearing to draw closer and yet daring to do nothing else, I found myself treading on a path paved of stars. Each gleamed like a chip of icy fire, brighter than any diamond and more brilliant than any polished silver. The path grew more radiant the closer I drew to the gates, until – as I stood almost upon the very threshold, with my paw raised to knock upon the wrought silver – I had half a mind I was walking upon light itself._

* * *

Five days. It had taken five days to march from the shattered, burnt village to the camp. They had gone slowly, painfully slowly, for with them were many injured – some on stretchers; the ships had been unable to take them all – a large band of exhausted slaves, and the defeated vermin. Many of these did not seem as unhappy about their defeat as might be expected; they were treated well, given medical attention, and granted decent accommodations at every halt. With them was the young fox, Gareth, who had not even spoken his father's name since that fateful night, though his eyes seemed haunted by the memory. He moved among the warlord's shattered creatures, speaking quietly to them, encouraging them, setting an example and keeping the lot from rebellion. The young squirrel watching the fox was quite impressed by his leadership, though, like all of his tribe, he was loathe to associate more than was necessary with creatures of which he'd been trained all his life to think as enemies. But even among the battle-coarse Foeseekers Gareth was steadily making headway.

Other woodlanders, on the other paw, were quite open with him. The Volkendians saw nothing strange in holding a fox as an equal, and the freed slaves had a kind of awe for the son of their late master that was, in its own way, quite heartwarming. The awe quite startled the observing young squirrel, though he knew the story of the slaves' escape and the part Gareth had played in it as well as any other creature present. He wondered what would happen when all these vermin showed up in the middle of two camps full of warriors whose systems were on high alert for any kind of danger or activity. It wouldn't be long now; the caravan had only to skirt one last hill before they would be sweeping down on the dwelling places of the Tarentian forces.

He wondered vaguely if the ships had arrived. Of course they had. The ships had most likely made it before sunrise the second day. The squirrelmaid – his friend – would have been on one of them. Was she all right? Had the healers back at the camps been able to help her? He swallowed; he'd know soon enough.

* * *

_At the touch of my paw the gates swung silently inward as if moved by an unseen gatekeeper. But not a creature was visible anywhere. Total silence reigned for many moments as I stood motionless, feeling a sudden rush of yearning to go back – that this next step should be dreaded – was dreaded by mere mortals – instead of desired. But oh, how I desired it! That call not heard by the ear but louder than any earthly sound seemed to surround me, envelop me, pull me forward. And I wanted to go – even if it meant leaving the trees and sand and sea and sky that I had known and cherished as I knew and cherished my own life, I would give them up and never regret the loss, for what was to be gained was so much more. Even those remaining behind – surely they would understand, someday. I had to go. I WANTED to go._

_I turned to face the gateway in preparation for that final, fateful, faith-filled step, but barring my way was the black-furred squirrel who had lurked in the shadows of my dreams for so many seasons. No longer was this a worn, scarred fighter or a gaunt slave bound with chains. This was a warrior surrounded with glory, robed in the finest of garments trimmed in spun gold. No scars marred her glossy black fur, no emaciation twisted her frame, but muscles ridged the flesh beneath her hide and the vigor of health and prime radiated from her. This was a warrior to match all warriors, a warrior glorified – a warrior who had suffered all there was to suffer, and had been amply rewarded by the one she served and for whom she had suffered._

_My first impulse was to kneel and honor such a creature, who far surpassed me in deed and duty. But the great squirrel bent and lifted my head, and we stood and faced each other – mirrors of the other, one shining with triumph and cloaked in victory, the other still dusty with the weariness of her journey hither. But though we wore different garments, neither could say that the other was greater or less in our essence. I felt for the first time that somehow, someday, I might indeed earn my place beside this great squirrel, who had stood as my example and role model._

"_Do you not know me?"_

_I felt something akin to a tremor pulse through me at the sound of the her voice. "You are the one who has spoken to me in dreams."_

"_I am much more than that, though what else I have not shown you. Do you know my name?"_

_I paused, hesitated; I knew, but I did not know. "You are the ancestor of the Foeseekers, the one they call Ranguvar Foeseeker."_

_She appeared to be amused at this. "I am. And your guardian, and the one who shares the same fire that flows in your veins."_

_I felt that fire stir as she spoke, though this time it was not accompanied by the rush of anger I had experienced the last time the liquid flames had flared to their greatest heat. I shuddered and was uncertain if it was due to rage or joy. "Does that fire have a name?"_

"_In battle, yes; there, it is known as the Bloodwrath." Her black eyes were fixed on me as if trying to transmit her own fire to me. "Elsewhere it is not seen by living eyes and there it has no name, though there it is as present – if not more so – as it is in the heat of battle."_

"_Is it a good thing?"_

"_Like all things, it is only good if used properly." She paused, and I suddenly realized that I was poised to leap over the threshold of the gates. I hastily straitened, but not before she spoke again; "Do you wish to cross through these gates?"_

"_I wish it more than I have ever wished for anything."_

"_You may not pass."_

* * *

Tam had argued with him in vain to leave his friend's sickroom. In the end, it was Wild Doogy Plumm of all creatures who had quietly persuaded him to return to his own tent and attend to his own needs. He had complied grudgingly, only agreeing to do as he was told when they had promised to let him take a shift at his friend's side – a shift he would doubtlessly spend sitting still and rigid on the ground beside his friend's pallet, watching for signs of life.

She was doing as poorly as was earthly possible. Barely breathing with a weak pulse, a fever, and no movement whatsoever of the head and limbs in whatever dreams were induced by the false sleep, she stood at a dangerous crossroads. One misstep would send her forever down the path of no return – the path that led to the not-too-distant destination of death.

Warriors – especially warriors of the Foeseeker tribe – were not supposed to fear death. Warriors were supposed to be strong, to remain hard and firm through all the knocks and blows life threw at them. But he didn't feel like a warrior right now; he felt like a little babe whose only thought was to wail his sorrows to the sky, heedless of any comfort or consolation offered by those around him. Life was so unfair, so cruel; his friend didn't deserve this. Hadn't she ended this long war, begun before she knew of her enemy's existence by the first blow struck against the Foeseekers by Groomyer? She had done so much for them all – so much for him.

He sat down on the blanket whose purpose was to serve as his bed. It would not see him lie down for rest – not this night. He would spent those hours of darkness at his friend's bedside, sleepless, watching for life and praying for protection. He would attempt to force a little water and perhaps some broth down her throat; perhaps the healer tending to her might ask him to bathe her fevered brow with water. _Ranguvar, I'll do whatever it takes to keep her here. Please, please, do the same. We need her. I need her._

* * *

"_You may not pass."_

_As she spoke this, in tones strong enough to shake the earth, more squirrels appeared, each with a pelt of black jet and each with the same invisible but shining halo of glory, granted by endurance of more than earthly trials. They stood behind my guide in a semicircle, facing toward me. Among their number I saw my parents and sister and I longed to go and meet them. But the squirrel before me with raised paw prevented me from passing through the bejeweled gates._

"_Why may I not enter?" I demanded, longing to pass over the threshold and rush to meet those who dwelled beyond. "Does not everybeast pass through these gates?"_

"_Those that earn it, yes. Those that do not travel a darker path, a path of cold stone, to the gate of fire. But you are not to come this way yet. You have traveled here before the world is ready to bequeath you."_

"_But I want to go!"_

_Ranguvar's eyes darkened. "How many times in your life have you wanted to do something but ended up doing just the opposite?"_

_I had to admit that she was right; my desires had gone against me many times, perhaps more than they had gone for me. But was that not life? I pressed on, intent on gaining passage through the gates. "Nobeast can say their desires have always been fulfilled, but why must this desire be turned off? I would gladly give my life to pass through these gates, for what lies beyond is a thousand times better than what I would leave behind."_

"_And so you would," countered the dark-furred warrior. "But you have more to do before you join us. Would you wish to leave your fields half tilled, your orchard half picked?"_

"_Please –" I began, desperate, but she stopped my outburst with an upraised paw._

"_I have told you that you are not to pass. However, you can still enter – but would you do so and leave the world behind to have it fall into chaos?"_

_I hesitated, remembering my friends, my kin – the ones I loved. What did this warrior mean?_

_She saw my hesitation. "You have much to learn, I think."_

_I nodded, slowly. "Yes. But what good will it be?"_

"_It will be of greater good than you will ever know, until your fields are harvested and you are free to bring your crop home, to the storehouses beyond these gates."_

"_Who will teach me?"_

"_Your ancestors, the ones in whose pawsteps you will follow. And myself."_

* * *

Oakfur huddled miserably beside Lin's pallet. The only light in the small tent came from a candle in the center of the floor, which flickered and shivered in the faint disturbances of the night air. Its pale light cast weird, grotesque shadows against the tent canvas, and these shadows appeared to possess life of their own as they leaped and cavorted about at the flame's whim. Far away, as if in another world, the natural nighttime sounds of the woodland could be heard. Closer than these were the soft murmur of voices, probably healers caring for a wounded creature.

Oakfur sighed and rubbed his weary footpaws. Those whose condition was good enough to march had made it to the camp that afternoon. Upon arrival he had immediately sought out Jome for news of the healer's sister. The report was not good. Lin hadn't stirred ever since she'd been brought into the camp. She was still breathing, but barely, and though the bleeding had been stopped and the worst of her wounds stitched closed there was little indication of healing. In addition, a fever had taken hold and the healers feared she would be unable to cope with the amount of blood she'd lost; as Jome had said with resignation, "It's up to her, now."

The young Foeseeker studied his friend's still, expressionless face. Lin meant so much to him, and more than just a friend; she'd taught him self-respect. He still vividly remembered their first meeting, when he had timidly challenged her at his spear point and she'd easily frightened him into backing down. What a coward he'd been then, a coward who let himself be walked all over by those around him. It had seemed so strange when Lin had stood up for him and demanded he do the same. In doing so she'd won his friendship and undying loyalty, and ever since he'd tried to return the favor. He'd failed so miserably . . . he'd stood aside and watched her get cut to pieces without even attempting to help her. Now she was on the verge of death, and what could he do? Sit beside her and wait like an old squirrelmum.

He stared past the canvas of the tent as he relived that night. Fire dancing eerily against a blue-black sky split with lightning, the sound of blades, voices, screams, and moans, the stench of blood and fear, the image of blood on black and grey fur. The sounds, sights, and smells began to whirl about in his head like some out-of-control carousel, and it was with a jolt that he came awake and realized he'd dozed off.

His first thought was he was rather uncomfortable. This made perfect sense, since he had somehow bent himself in such a way that he was half-sitting and half lying – never a comfortable position no matter what the circumstances. His next thought was the candle was out but he could still see clearly. Dawn had finally broken, and the tent canvas was just starting to glow a pale amber from the rising sun.

Oakfur's third thought was somebeast close by was panting, a rather raspy pant punctuated every little while with a choking or sobbing sound. The young Foeseeker stared about him, wondering who had entered the tent while he dozed. Nobeast was there. In confusion he looked over at the squirrelmaid on the pallet, almost not daring to do so. What was he about to see?

His friend's eyes were still closed, and her body still lay in exactly the same position as when he'd fallen asleep. Her chest, however, was heaving as if she'd just finished a long, hard run. Her mouth was slightly open in an attempt to suck in more air, and a dull sheen of sweat glossed her face. Beneath the blanket Oakfur could see the knobby bumps that were her paws frenziedly clenching and unclenching. _She's having a nightmare,_ he thought in a panic, _and she's going to reopen her wounds._

Before he could react Lin let out a soft scream and her eyes flew open. For a heartbeat she stared up at the tent canvas as though still seeing the phantoms of her nightmares. Terror writhed its way across her face; then relief took its place. The squirrelmaid exhaled slowly, sinking into the cushion beneath her head. Oakfur leaned tentatively forward.

"Lin? Are you all right?"

Lin gasped and tried to sit up. Her eyes were wide again, but this time it was not from fear. "Oakfur! Oakfur, you're – ooh!"

Oakfur caught her as she fell and her paws went to her chest. "Lin! What's wrong?"

"Oooooh . . . my chest . . . it hurts."

"Groomyer stabbed you close to the heart. Don't try to talk loudly, or sit up. That'll probably just make it worse."

"Since when are you a healer?" the squirrelmaid teased with a feeble smile. Oakfur grinned back and eased her down. As he settled her against the pillow he felt her paw tracing his face. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked with concern. Oakfur blinked with puzzlement.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Lin shifted into a more comfortable position. A faraway look came into her eyes. "That dream I had . . . it was awful. You – you were beaten . . . Jome was – he was stabbed, and . . ." She shut her eyes, and Oakfur realized with a start that she was trying not to cry.

"Was it that real?"

"You don't understand!" Lin flinched; undoubtedly her loud words had taxed her still-healing chest wound. "She showed it to me! She said all that would happen if I didn't come back here!"

"What are you talking about?" Oakfur shook his head. "Everyone's fine. Jome was in here just last night to change those dressings. I mean, he's tired, but he's not hurt. No one's plotting against him." He stopped, realizing what she'd just said. "Wait – who's 'she'?"

"She? Oh." Lin grinned apologetically. "Sorry, I forgot. That's Ranguvar – your Ranguvar."

"Ranguvar? Ranguvar Foeseeker? Hold on a tick, Ranguvar Foeseeker appeared to you?" Oakfur could feel excitement crackling through his fur. "D'you know she hasn't appeared to anyone – anyone at all – since our last queen died? And –"

"But the queen isn't dead!" Lin flinched again. "She said so! Listen," she continued earnestly, cutting Oakfur off, "I told you about all our history – how we came from a few squirrels swept up on this island from a shipwreck – right?"

"Tarentian history? Yes, but –"

"Those squirrels were Foeseekers, and one of them was the daughter of your last queen."

"How in the name of seasons –"

"They must have strayed from the course or something. I don't know. I just know she showed me those same squirrels seasons before, in the Foeseeker camp."

Oakfur rose and began pacing the length of the tent. His mind was in an agitated whirl; his Tribe's rightful leader, so long thought lost, was alive? Perhaps not the one who had so long ago sailed into the mists of time from the Northland shores – but still their rightful queen! He recalled his early seasons, when he'd been so bullied and picked on. Those nights when he'd gone hungry because food was distributed down from the top of the pecking order. If the queen returned, the Foeseekers might become great again.

Of a sudden he turned on his heel. "I'll be back. Wait here."

Behind him Lin's face creased into a wry grin. It wasn't like she was going anywhere anytime soon.


	54. The Morning Star

_53: The Morning Star_

"So do you know who it is?"

Lin groaned. This endless questioning was wearing her exhausted patience even thinner. "For the _third_ time, no, I don't! All she said was that there is a queen still alive!"

Slarave laid a paw on the shoulder of Lin's interrogator. "Let her catch her breath, Verzanthil. She's had it tough."

Lin flashed her former adversary a grateful glance. Slarave blinked in acknowledgement and leaned over to study Verzanthil's notes. The ancient squirrel's scholarly habits were revealing their fruits in spite of Lin's irritation. "So, the Tarentians are Foeseekers, eh? Well, that doesn't surprise me." She sat back on her heels. "By the seasons, some of you fought like devils that night!"

"Is that a good thing?" Jome asked with concern.

Tam patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, young 'un. 'Tis just a manner o' speakin', she doesn't mean it seriously."

"Does that mean that the Foeseekers'll be staying here?" Oakfur, seated at the foot of Lin's pallet, looked a bit cramped; indeed, the six squirrels were a tight squeeze for the little tent.

"That'll be decided later," Slarave said in a tone of finality. Lin glanced at her but saw only weariness on the Foeseeker leader's face. _This is exhausting her, too._

Verzanthil murmured something in Slarave's ear, and the taller squirrel leaned down to listen. Lin took advantage of the pause to uncross her legs and bring her knees up to her chin. It was four days since she'd woken; her fever had broken shortly after and her wounds had healed rapidly since. She was grateful Jome had managed to fend Verzanthil off this long to allow her time to recover.

"Have you Tarentians ever had a monarch-type leader?" Slarave asked, jerking Lin's attention back to those present.

"No, we've mostly had chiefs elected by popular vote," Jome replied. "Our father was the – last one."

"So you have no idea who the queen could be?"

Lin flicked her tail with irritation. Hadn't she answered that question enough times already? "Whoever she is, she's a commoner, just like all Tarentians. We don't have a social hierarchy."

"Sounds like my kind of life," Oakfur muttered under his breath. Slarave cocked a fierce black eye at him. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," the young squirrel replied too quickly. "So, uh, how're we going to find this queen?"

"Lin said the queen's daughter was Lindenton, our ancestor," Jome said slowly. Slarave started and stared from him to Lin. "No, no, I'm not saying she's the one." The healer hastened to explain. "I think we're only distantly related to her. Actually, a good part of our tribe is. There was a small colony of squirrels here when we first arrived, and a few have joined us, but the original number of individuals was small. Over the generations families have intermarried, and we've been here for a couple hundred seasons."

Slarave groaned and rubbed her forehead with a paw. "So we have to try and trace the lineage of all those squirrels to find the descendant of Lindenton through the line of her eldest daughter?"

"Jome, do you know if any of those old records made it?" Lin asked her brother.

"I know there were a few manuscripts rescued when we fled, but I don't remember which ones. I'll have to check." Jome got to his paws and dusted himself off. "I'll show you where they are if you want, Verzanthil. If the right ones have survived they'll have genealogies in them. You and Taringlon can look them over together; he knows a lot about our old recordings."

"Another scholar, eh?" Verzanthil levered herself upright with her polished maple wood cane. "I'd appreciate that, young 'un. You know much about them yourself?"

The two exited the tent, Jome explaining his knowledge of Tarenta's few surviving manuscripts to the old squirrel. Tam took a deep breath. "Phew! As much as I like those two, I'm glad they left. Stealin' all the air in 'ere, they were!"

Oakfur tentatively stretched out one footpaw. "Can I move now?"

Lin gave him a teasing shove. "Oh, hush. It's not my fault you all had me put in such a tiny tent!"

Tam twitched a warning eyebrow at her and Lin felt the fur on her hackles stir. When he did that he looked uncannily like her father. "Now don't go complainin', missie. Yer lucky ye got yer own tent."

The squirrelmaid restrained the urge to throw her pillow at him. "I know, I know, I was just joking!"

Slarave rose and stretched. "Oooh, my back's sore! Well, I think I'm going to go join Verzanthil; no sense in wasting time." Still she hesitated, fussing with her tunic. Lin was struck with a sudden thought. _When the queen's found Slarave's not going to be leader anymore. She'll lose all that power . . . what does she want? What's she thinking right now? _Lin was startled to find herself feeling sorry for the Foeseeker leader. Slarave had tried. She'd tried hard. True, she hadn't done well, but was that completely her fault? She'd never had a good role model – she'd grown up in a Tribe controlled by dictators. Had Slarave really done the best she knew how to alleviate the hardships her Tribe had endured? Lin longed to know the answer. She wondered if Slarave did, too.

Tam broke her thoughts. "Is there something you're worryin' about?" The question, to Lin's surprise, was aimed at Slarave. The tall Foeseeker shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Nothin'. Just wishin' we could do this the easy way, that's all."

"The easy way?" Oakfur's face told the whole world he was puzzled.

"If the bracelet had survived we'd be able to trace it. Even then it might not have been passed down according to our traditions." Slarave started for the tent flap but halted again when Lin spoke.

"Wait, bracelet? What're you talking about?"

"Remember when I told you about our history? The bracelet was the symbol of the crown. When a queen died or stepped down, the bracelet passed on to the heir. If the queen had given it to her daughter before the shipwreck we'd be able to trace it." Slarave shrugged again. "There's no use in that now, is there?"

"Lin, what's wrong?" Tam was staring at the squirrelmaid.

"Tam, where'd they put my belt and tunic? Everything I was wearing during the battle."

"In that bundle over there. Why?"

Lin tried to scramble across the tent to seize the aforementioned object, but her wounds were not healed enough for such rapid movement and she sank back with a groan. Slarave snagged the bundle with her outstretched paw and tossed it to her. Lin snapped the twine holding it together with an impatient tug and began pawing through its contents. After a moment she slowly withdrew something from within the folds of linen. "Here it is."

She held the little piece of slim gold jewelry up to Slarave with a paw that quivered minutely despite her best efforts. "Did the queen's bracelet look something like this?"

Oakfur stood to peer over Slarave's shoulder. The Foeseeker leader examined the bracelet with an intensity that would have done a jeweler proud. She tapped a claw on a diamond and rubbed the tiny gold latch against her paw pad. She turned it over to study the back. She tried it around her own wrist, an action that caused Lin and Tam to exchange glances. Then she twined it about her claws and gazed levelly at Lin. "Where – and how – did you get this?"

Lin hesitated. From Slarave's reaction she had no doubt that the bracelet was that which denoted the Foeseeker queen. The squirrelmaid glanced at Oakfur. For a heartbeat she longed to deny her whole connection to the bracelet, to say she got it from her father's side of the family and not her mother's, to say that it was a present from a friend – anything to keep herself out of the queenship. Her heart twisted as she wondered what burdens such a rank might impose – would they prevent her from living a normal life? From having a family? Would she be forever seen as different than everyone else simply because she'd inherited a piece of gold? But would she ever forgive herself for lying? What about Jome? Tam? The Redwall champion knew the history behind the bracelet and her entire connection to it. What would he say? Do? Would Oakfur think less of her for trying to protect both of them? She remembered Ranguvar, and for a moment the black warrior's face filled her mind's eye. Once again she was at those surreal gates, and Ranguvar was barring her way.

"_You have much to learn, I think."_

"_Yes. But what good will it be?"_

"_It will be of greater good than you will ever know, until your fields are harvested and you are free to bring your crop home, to the storehouses beyond these gates."_

"_Who will teach me?"_

"_Your ancestors, the ones in whose pawsteps you will follow. And myself."_

"My mother gave it to me before she died." Lin didn't dare to make eye contact with anybeast. She stared instead at the bracelet held in Slarave's paw. "Her mother gave it to her, and she got it from her aunt."

"Her aunt?"

"Yes, her aunt was the oldest daughter, but she had all sons. It's – it's a family rule that the bracelet always go to a female, so when her aunt's line ended it went to the next generation in the second-oldest daughter's family. If my great-grandmother hadn't had my grandmother at the time it would have gone to her, but since my grandmother had already been born she got it."

In times past Lin had always lost everybeast to whom she'd attempted to explain the bracelet's history by this point. Slarave, however, was following every word with intense interest. "Go on."

The squirrelmaid swallowed. She was so used to backtracking in this conversation that for a moment she lost her train of thought. Her head ached from trying to remember information left for seasons untouched. "Er . . . her aunt had gotten it from her mother, and her mother had gotten it from her mother. Then the next one got it from . . . was it her mother or her aunt? No, it was her cousin. She'd gotten it from her mother, who was the granddaughter of Lindenton through Lindenton's eldest daughter."

Slarave's stare was so penetrating that Lin wondered if the Foeseeker leader was trying to see her brain at work. "Is that all?"

Lin gulped. "Yes."

There was silence. A _long_ silence. Lin began to get very, very nervous. What was Slarave _thinking?_ And – great seasons – what was she going to _do?_ Fearful images of the Foeseeker leader flashed across her memory. Slarave had once almost killed her for power. Was she still willing to do the same thing?

"The Foeseekers have seen many things in our time." Slarave appeared to be speaking to the bracelet in her paw. "We've seen heroes come and go. We've seen war and peace. But what we've never seen is a beast come back to life." She slowly passed the bracelet back to Lin. Then, to the squirrelmaid's utter humiliation, the tall Foeseeker warrior bowed to her. "I am at your service, my queen."

Lin felt a knife stab her at the sound of Slarave's formal tone. "Slarave, please . . ." She trailed off, terrified lest she totally break down. Oakfur had bowed to her, too.

††

Much later – though how much later she never knew – Lin found herself sobbing into Tam's shoulder. The border warrior was seated beside her and had wrapped his arms about her in a comforting embrace. Just as her own father had done so many times. He said nothing, only pressed his cheek against her forehead and let her weep. His silence was as soothing as his protective presence.

Lin's whole body shook with her grief. Her throat and eyes ached horribly from crying, but she felt unable to stop. After Slarave and Oakfur had left she'd finally broken down. She felt as if her heart had been ripped in half and ground into the dust. Her whole life, her dreams for the future, had been upended and shattered in the course of ten minutes.

"Tam," she gasped wildly through her tears, "I want to go back to Redwall. I'll be able to hide there – they'll never find me! They can't make me do it! I won't!" She buried her face in his shoulder again. "I – I'm scared, Tam."

"Shhhh." Tam stroked her headfur soothingly. "The best leaders never choose to become leaders; they're chosen, Lin. You've been chosen."

"No I haven't!" Lin spat bitterly. "I inherited a piece of gold! I was never chosen by anyone!"

"Lin." Tam put a paw on each of the squirrelmaid's shoulders. "Lin, listen to me. Nothin' – _nothin'_ – is ever a coincidence. We might not understand why somethin' happens, but every little thing has a purpose. It wasn't chance ye got that bracelet, Lindenton Tarenta Foeseeker." Lin started at that. _Foeseeker_. Not noticing, the Borderer swept on. "There's no such thing as an accident, even a little one. Yer mother knew what she was doin' when she gave that to ye – ye're supposed to become queen."

"How do you know?" Lin felt something trickling down her face; she wiped it away.

The Border warrior smiled. "What would happen here if ye left right now for Redwall?"

_What _would_ happen?_ Lin tried to picture it. _Slarave would try to take power, almost certainly. Jome would try to organize the Tarentians, but they would probably turn against him. Many might resist the Foeseekers, who wouldn't hesitate to resort to force to gain rights to live on the island. They might slip back into their caste system. Oakfur could easily be killed; he isn't popular with some of the more powerful Foeseekers. War would eventually erupt; I'm sure of that much._

"They'd probably end up killing each other," Lin admitted grudgingly. "But what does that have to do with it? How does that show I'm supposed to be –"

"If ye stay ye'd certainly prevent some deaths, possibly even hundreds." Tam was adamant. "Ye leavin' to go to Redwall would be destructive to two entire populations. If ye stay you almost guarantee their survival and prosperity."

The squirrelmaid leaned into the older warrior, savoring the strength that pulsed through him. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "What should I do?"

"Stay here." Tam gave her a gentle squeeze. "Do yer duty to the best of your ability. Live every day like it's yer last. And never forget who ye are, Lindenton Tarenta Foeseeker. Never forget who ye are."


	55. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

_Excerpt from the recordings of Redwall Abbey_

Abbess Mimsie has ordered a day of feasting in honor of our guests. I could tell Lin and Oakfur, my mother and father, were delighted; they both love the delicious fare of the abbey and they don't get to enjoy it often. My older sister, Oaklin, remarked this morning that Redwall cooking is worth a kingdom. That may be true, but I hope she doesn't mean it seriously; she is the heir to the Foeseeker throne, after all!

My son and daughter have found a companion and cohort in my youngest sister, Ral (that's short for Ranguvar). She's a few seasons older than they but she is every bit as troublesome, energetic, and cheerful. In fact, I can hear some shouts outside right now; the terrible trio is probably up to something again. Vouron, my only brother, who's three seasons older than Ral and is my junior, has been spending most of his time in the kitchens. For a prince he's a rather good cook. Kareil and Melanda, her mother, have taken the day off to assist Meekayel – Melanda's husband and the head cook – with the preparations for the feast; that's why I'm doing the recording today. I'm lucky to have a wife who's as good in the culinary arts as in the literary ones.

I can see Kareil's grandfather and his friend, Doogy Plumm, through the window as I write. They're watching a couple of youngsters practicing with staves. Even though Redwall has no need of warriors at present, Tam insists on everybeast having some basic knowledge of weapons. "Ye never know when danger might come," he says. Doogy always backs him up; "Vermin have a way o' sneakin' up on ye unawares, ye ken."

Tam has taken it easy ever since he passed Martin's sword on to me. He's getting a bit stiff with age, but even though he now uses a walking stick he's still as hale and hearty as ever. Armel hasn't changed much from when I first met her; she never does. Both of them are still very important figures in Redwall, and the young ones – well, everybeast – looks to them for advice. While Armel isn't the official infirmary keeper anymore she still helps there quite often. Dilnrae and his wife, Anilrae, two healers formerly of Tarenta, have taken over her duties since Mimsie (Armel's former assistant) was made abbess six seasons ago.

Oh yes, we have other visitors besides the Foeseekers (who are now quite happy with their combined nation of Tarentians and the original Foeseekers). Lin's old ally, Gareth, has come here to visit and brought his family with him. His wife, Vittonae, has her paws full with their three youngsters. Nya is the only female and favors her father; the two little dogfoxes, Rath and Loq, both have the red fur of their mother. The three of them have joined the mob of Redwall dibbuns. They are quite charming and, like their parents, defy the usual vermin stereotype.

I think Gareth is enjoying this time away from his duties as leader. After the great battle some the vermin who'd survived decided to make a home for themselves, and a few knew of two uninhabited islands where they could settle. I've been there once; it's quite a remarkable place. There are two semicircular islands with a channel between them. Each island has a few little villages, primarily along the coasts, and quite a few farms. They lack good timber, so Tarenta, Volkendo, and the Twin Islands have formed a steady trading partnership. Gareth was looked to for leadership from the vermin due to his relationship with Groomyer, their former leader, and I'm told he accepted it with his usual quiet determination. That was my mother's words, not mine; I even born at the time. In fact, Mother and Father weren't even married.

I'm going to finish this and head off to assist with the tables in the orchard. The Foeseeker squirrels are busy there already. I'll leave you with this little poem my mother wrote. Fare thee well, and never forget that Redwall's doors are always open.

Every day there is a dawn  
Every eve the stars burn bright  
And every day we carry on  
Down our paths of dark and light

The anonymal path is content  
It lies in one small place, the home  
Not for a leader is this meant  
They walk the mountain ridge alone

I chose to take the rocky way  
And forever the simple life I'll miss  
Long and hard is every day  
But nowhere else could I find such bliss

Be ye great or be ye small  
Listen well and listen all  
Follow true your given way  
And in eternity you'll be someday

_Silvan Foeseeker, Warrior of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country_

* * *

_The End._

_So, how was it? Please tell me. Remember, this is only the first draft; I'm going to go back and revise the beginning, cut and paste some stuff, edit, update, and tweak. So basically a total overhaul. I'd really appreciate it if you guys could tell me as much as you can about how you think the final version should be. What you did and didn't like, stuff that you'd like to see, ideas you have – anything, really. The story itself is staying the same, I'm just adding extra detail (such as more time with Gareth) and removing unnecessary stuff._

_On the last chapter (not the Epilogue); I actually didn't originally intend for the story to end there. There were supposed to be about two more chapters with a lot of the information provided here in the Epilogue (Lin's family, fate of the Foeseekers/Tarentians, etc.). However, that ending sounded so good I decided to leave it and see what you all thought. (If it wasn't clear to you in the Epilogue: Lin and Oakfur married and had four children in this order; Oaklin (daughter), Fauro (son), Vouron (son), Ral (daughter). Fauro decided to live at Redwall and became the Abbey Champion. Melanda married a squirrel named Meekayel (there will be more information about him in the final version) and they had a daughter, Kareil. Kareil and Fauro married and at this point have two children whom I didn't name.)_

_Oh yeah, was the storytelling in the second-to-last chapter (not counting the Epilogue) okay? I was having fun with that format and decided to experiment. I can always change it later if it gets negative reviews, anyway._

_Wow, this story took me almost three years. Wonder how long my book-I-want-to-publish will take?_

_God bless!_

_Foeseeker_


End file.
